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"seeming" poems
Middle School Full of friends and love Hate and lust Being thrown under the bus Doing the right thing Is harder than it sounds Harder than it looks, too Always wanting to be found Rescued from the abyss That feeds off of your sadness That doesn’t know when to stop That will make you collapse Needing support Wherever you can find it Taking it from others If it means peace Life upside-down Never know how To turn your life over That frown upside-down So when you find peace Wherever you find it You never want to leave it But sometimes you must Coming back to resurface After all the sadness You see the world differently Then you saw it before. People can help But sometimes they don’t Sometimes they think their helping But really they’re not Don’t fall for the lies The deceptions they place To try and make you come with them And do the wrong things Because in the end, you’ll find You never wanted to be with them You just want to be you And not just some hologram Embrace who you are And what you’ve gone through No matter what it is Walk up with open arms Take what you have And don’t worry about what you don’t Because in the end, you’ll find There’s nothing wrong with you You’ve been through high times And low ones, too But no matter what had happened You found your way through Through the darkness, you emerged Opening your eyes To a new world of color Without wearing a disguise Learning who you are Can change how you act Change how you feel Even change how you react Because now you know How to see in color No longer in the darkness World seeming brighter Every day can be a good one If you know how to live it All you have to do Is change how you see it
0
Dec 5, 2017
Dec 5, 2017 at 3:30 PM UTC
rylie
Middle School
Middle School Full of friends and love Hate and lust Being thrown under the bus Doing the right thing Is harder than it sounds Harder than it looks, too Always wanting to be found Rescued from the abyss That feeds off of your sadness That doesn’t know when to stop That will make you collapse Needing support Wherever you can find it Taking it from others If it means peace Life upside-down Never know how To turn your life over That frown upside-down So when you find peace Wherever you find it You never want to leave it But sometimes you must Coming back to resurface After all the sadness You see the world differently Then you saw it before. People can help But sometimes they don’t Sometimes they think their helping But really they’re not Don’t fall for the lies The deceptions they place To try and make you come with them And do the wrong things Because in the end, you’ll find You never wanted to be with them You just want to be you And not just some hologram Embrace who you are And what you’ve gone through No matter what it is Walk up with open arms Take what you have And don’t worry about what you don’t Because in the end, you’ll find There’s nothing wrong with you You’ve been through high times And low ones, too But no matter what had happened You found your way through Through the darkness, you emerged Opening your eyes To a new world of color Without wearing a disguise Learning who you are Can change how you act Change how you feel Even change how you react Because now you know How to see in color No longer in the darkness World seeming brighter Every day can be a good one If you know how to live it All you have to do Is change how you see it
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68
O'er the midnight moorlands crying, Thro' the cypress forests sighing, In the night-wind madly flying, Hellish forms with streaming hair; In the barren branches creaking, By the stagnant swamp-pools speaking, Past the shore-cliffs ever shrieking, Damn'd demons of despair. Once, I think I half remember, Ere the grey skies of November Quench'd my youth's aspiring ember, Liv'd there such a thing as bliss; Skies that now are dark were beaming, Bold and azure, splendid seeming Till I learn'd it all was dreaming — Deadly drowsiness of Dis. But the stream of Time, swift flowing, Brings the torment of half-knowing — Dimly rushing, blindly going Past the never-trodden lea; And the voyager, repining, Sees the wicked death-fires shining, Hears the wicked petrel's whining As he helpless drifts to sea. Evil wings in ether beating; Vultures at the spirit eating; Things unseen forever fleeting Black against the leering sky. Ghastly shades of bygone gladness, Clawing fiends of future sadness, Mingle in a cloud of madness Ever on the soul to lie. Thus the living, lone and sobbing, In the throes of anguish throbbing, With the loathsome Furies robbing Night and noon of peace and rest. But beyond the groans and grating Of abhorrent Life, is waiting Sweet Oblivion, culminating All the years of fruitless quest.
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26k
H.P. Lovecraft
Despair
O'er the midnight moorlands crying, Thro' the cypress forests sighing, In the night-wind madly flying, Hellish forms with streaming hair; In the barren branches creaking, By the stagnant swamp-pools speaking, Past the shore-cliffs ever shrieking, Damn'd demons of despair. Once, I think I half remember, Ere the grey skies of November Quench'd my youth's aspiring ember, Liv'd there such a thing as bliss; Skies that now are dark were beaming, Bold and azure, splendid seeming Till I learn'd it all was dreaming — Deadly drowsiness of Dis. But the stream of Time, swift flowing, Brings the torment of half-knowing — Dimly rushing, blindly going Past the never-trodden lea; And the voyager, repining, Sees the wicked death-fires shining, Hears the wicked petrel's whining As he helpless drifts to sea. Evil wings in ether beating; Vultures at the spirit eating; Things unseen forever fleeting Black against the leering sky. Ghastly shades of bygone gladness, Clawing fiends of future sadness, Mingle in a cloud of madness Ever on the soul to lie. Thus the living, lone and sobbing, In the throes of anguish throbbing, With the loathsome Furies robbing Night and noon of peace and rest. But beyond the groans and grating Of abhorrent Life, is waiting Sweet Oblivion, culminating All the years of fruitless quest.
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40
A small clearing surrounded by trees, Everything is bright and vibrant. A crisp breeze blowing, Swaying the grass. The ground is covered by rocks Of various shapes, colors, and sizes. Bladed grass and ivy-like plants Growing in the cracks of the stones. A small white butterfly fluttering about, So full of beauty and life: Like the sweet-smelling flowers, So simple with a fragrance of purity. A soft breeze blows rustling the leaves, Seeming to shush the world. All is still, obeying the command, And all around is at peace.
0
Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 11:12 PM UTC
smiling-tears
Simplicity & Diversity
A small clearing surrounded by trees, Everything is bright and vibrant. A crisp breeze blowing, Swaying the grass. The ground is covered by rocks Of various shapes, colors, and sizes. Bladed grass and ivy-like plants Growing in the cracks of the stones. A small white butterfly fluttering about, So full of beauty and life: Like the sweet-smelling flowers, So simple with a fragrance of purity. A soft breeze blows rustling the leaves, Seeming to shush the world. All is still, obeying the command, And all around is at peace.
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16
‘I am…’ 'Or am I’? Who can say? ‘A posteriori’ leads the way For the extra and the ordinary Axiomatic sway, In the gravity of corollary, ‘A priori’ interplay Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation, As the innocence of dissonance delay. Practicing semantic contemplation, In willfully prevenient interpolation, Civilly disobedient in expediently seeming disarray, Forecasts in vague extrapolation Contrasts the millennial contagion Already underway, Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves, To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves, A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves, Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves, Inflating linguistics in acrobatic raves, A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves. The probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates, An apperceived inquirer of qualitative states, Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates. Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates, Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates, Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates. An escaped prisoner from depressive disillusion, Of an introspective extrovert who finds solace in confusion, The personable recluse fighting an illusion Breaking down the nuances of every institution. Calculating consequence as time goes to infinity Revolutionary commonsense of principal utility, An opinionated adversary, to the realist without evidence, Theorizing in futility, Stipulating every sense leading to the virility of the pretense that dominates community. Divergently converging all the efforts we’ve personified, Inadvertently submerging old traditions that unethically were codified, Hastening the urgency for purging that which cannot be modified through the merging of the certainty that will no longer coincide, Stationing the levies to finally stem the tide, Of periodic enmities disguised to be necessities so blatantly deified. Observing moral sentiments, perched upon eternity, As consequential regiments are expounded universally, To unstratify the residents indiscriminately And identify quantum elements spiritualistically, Changing collective behavior individually, Socializing constructs in joint ventured logo therapy.
0
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 8:07 AM UTC
Ballads-of-a-philosopher-poet
Paradoxical Tendencies
‘I am…’ 'Or am I’? Who can say? ‘A posteriori’ leads the way For the extra and the ordinary Axiomatic sway, In the gravity of corollary, ‘A priori’ interplay Ataraxic overlay of anxious automation, As the innocence of dissonance delay. Practicing semantic contemplation, In willfully prevenient interpolation, Civilly disobedient in expediently seeming disarray, Forecasts in vague extrapolation Contrasts the millennial contagion Already underway, Filling nihilistic voids with particles in waves, To interpret dreams of Freud to free Oedipus’s slaves, A degreeless scholastic who never misbehaves, Simulated humanoid dramatic in the affect that he craves, Inflating linguistics in acrobatic raves, A thespian who plans conation with legacy engraves. The probabilistic determiner of cosmogenous debates, An apperceived inquirer of qualitative states, Inspiring proprietor of dismality abates. Challenging aporia as epistemic oscillates, Stoically, heroically, ‘one’ who amalgamates, Circling the infinite in hermeneutic calibrates. An escaped prisoner from depressive disillusion, Of an introspective extrovert who finds solace in confusion, The personable recluse fighting an illusion Breaking down the nuances of every institution. Calculating consequence as time goes to infinity Revolutionary commonsense of principal utility, An opinionated adversary, to the realist without evidence, Theorizing in futility, Stipulating every sense leading to the virility of the pretense that dominates community. Divergently converging all the efforts we’ve personified, Inadvertently submerging old traditions that unethically were codified, Hastening the urgency for purging that which cannot be modified through the merging of the certainty that will no longer coincide, Stationing the levies to finally stem the tide, Of periodic enmities disguised to be necessities so blatantly deified. Observing moral sentiments, perched upon eternity, As consequential regiments are expounded universally, To unstratify the residents indiscriminately And identify quantum elements spiritualistically, Changing collective behavior individually, Socializing constructs in joint ventured logo therapy.
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47
How do you know that the pilgrim track Along the belting zodiac Swept by the sun in his seeming rounds Is traced by now to the Fishes’ bounds And into the Ram, when weeks of cloud Have wrapt the sky in a clammy shroud, And never as yet a tinct of spring Has shown in the Earth’s apparelling; O vespering bird, how do you know, How do you know? How do you know, deep underground, Hid in your bed from sight and sound, Without a turn in temperature, With weather life can scarce endure, That light has won a fraction’s strength, And day put on some moments’ length, Whereof in merest rote will come, Weeks hence, mild airs that do not numb; O crocus root, how do you know, How do you know?
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15.9k
Thomas Hardy
The Year’s Awakening
How do you know that the pilgrim track Along the belting zodiac Swept by the sun in his seeming rounds Is traced by now to the Fishes’ bounds And into the Ram, when weeks of cloud Have wrapt the sky in a clammy shroud, And never as yet a tinct of spring Has shown in the Earth’s apparelling; O vespering bird, how do you know, How do you know? How do you know, deep underground, Hid in your bed from sight and sound, Without a turn in temperature, With weather life can scarce endure, That light has won a fraction’s strength, And day put on some moments’ length, Whereof in merest rote will come, Weeks hence, mild airs that do not numb; O crocus root, how do you know, How do you know?
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20
self-congratulatory nonsense as the famous gather to applaud their seeming greatness you wonder where the real ones are what giant cave hides them as the deathly talentless bow to accolades as the fools are fooled again you wonder where the real ones are if there are real ones. this self-congratulatory nonsense has lasted decades and with some exceptions centuries. this is so dreary is so absolutely pitiless it churns the gut to powder shackles hope it makes little things like pulling up a shade or putting on your shoes or walking out on the street more difficult near damnable as the famous gather to applaud their seeming greatness as the fools are fooled again humanity you sick ************
0
13.9k
Charles Bukowski
This
self-congratulatory nonsense as the famous gather to applaud their seeming greatness you wonder where the real ones are what giant cave hides them as the deathly talentless bow to accolades as the fools are fooled again you wonder where the real ones are if there are real ones. this self-congratulatory nonsense has lasted decades and with some exceptions centuries. this is so dreary is so absolutely pitiless it churns the gut to powder shackles hope it makes little things like pulling up a shade or putting on your shoes or walking out on the street more difficult near damnable as the famous gather to applaud their seeming greatness as the fools are fooled again humanity you sick ************
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58
To its mistresses wish, the blade dances through till she has been pleased, leaving a mess by engraving the scars of death as a mark, Alike a shadow she does not crack, cavorting a masacre of cruelty, Berserking she follows the orders, shedding blood in fountains of death and misery without chance for this rage to stop without order, Emotionless, cold, time is for her to stop moving when her ****** devotion consumes her entirely, swaying in the dark, destroying, Tortured with true or false everyone disappears, time flows again, A phantom glides over the sea of blood, in a mist, scarlet red, Observing this would cause a riot of emotions to rage in pure fury, Her name already burnt away, as a new one was given to her after this rumpus had found its peak, leaving the mistress in bliss, joy, Watching their attemps to flee as they reach their dying moments, Until those who get to close have perished, nobody and nothing left, Cricling karma surely will catch them, after this sacrifice is done, Warm blood melts the left over snow, laughter echos and reverbrates through the unending seeming night, bells ring, it is only midnight. In the end her loyalty and efforts, her energy and love for her mistress Are but a ****** devotion ~ Umi
0
Mar 16, 2018
Mar 16, 2018 at 7:33 PM UTC
UmiofLove
****** Devotion
To its mistresses wish, the blade dances through till she has been pleased, leaving a mess by engraving the scars of death as a mark, Alike a shadow she does not crack, cavorting a masacre of cruelty, Berserking she follows the orders, shedding blood in fountains of death and misery without chance for this rage to stop without order, Emotionless, cold, time is for her to stop moving when her ****** devotion consumes her entirely, swaying in the dark, destroying, Tortured with true or false everyone disappears, time flows again, A phantom glides over the sea of blood, in a mist, scarlet red, Observing this would cause a riot of emotions to rage in pure fury, Her name already burnt away, as a new one was given to her after this rumpus had found its peak, leaving the mistress in bliss, joy, Watching their attemps to flee as they reach their dying moments, Until those who get to close have perished, nobody and nothing left, Cricling karma surely will catch them, after this sacrifice is done, Warm blood melts the left over snow, laughter echos and reverbrates through the unending seeming night, bells ring, it is only midnight. In the end her loyalty and efforts, her energy and love for her mistress Are but a ****** devotion ~ Umi
Continue reading...
14
On whether technology has influenced the seeming rise in mental health issues: The concept of technology as separate than Nature is impossible to pin down, but to say that a lifetime of social pressures, advertising, television, and processed and genetically altered foodstuffs would not affect what the brain is used to, and what is was designed to do, is a non sequitur. Certainly an entirely separate set of influences also had negative consequences in the brains' of pre-man, but these were not of his own making, as he still lived in an organic environment, and therefore wasn't a part of the "feedback loop" we have going on with humans becoming the products of a man-made environment (one of the only things that sets us apart from most the animal kingdom). Either way, whatever you're doing you're getting better at it, so with the increase in time spent on the web and watching TV we are increasingly better at watching other people - being passive, non-accountable, constantly comparative and self-obsessed, impotent in light of the mass of information constantly flooding towards you - which the brain was not originally intended for. This seems obvious. So the fact that some people have things like crippling anxiety and OCD, or develop anti-social disorders and the like, seems like a logical result produced by a system (the brain) presented with new and inorganic conditions. On top of that, being a non-douche is naturally and evolutionarily based because it increases the likelihood that others will want to chilll'n'stuff and help you when you need it, but when transposed onto a crowded, fast-paced modernity it twists into something like flattery and competition to appear the most altruistic.
0
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 11:45 AM UTC
dustin-holbrook
Technology and Mental Health
On whether technology has influenced the seeming rise in mental health issues: The concept of technology as separate than Nature is impossible to pin down, but to say that a lifetime of social pressures, advertising, television, and processed and genetically altered foodstuffs would not affect what the brain is used to, and what is was designed to do, is a non sequitur. Certainly an entirely separate set of influences also had negative consequences in the brains' of pre-man, but these were not of his own making, as he still lived in an organic environment, and therefore wasn't a part of the "feedback loop" we have going on with humans becoming the products of a man-made environment (one of the only things that sets us apart from most the animal kingdom). Either way, whatever you're doing you're getting better at it, so with the increase in time spent on the web and watching TV we are increasingly better at watching other people - being passive, non-accountable, constantly comparative and self-obsessed, impotent in light of the mass of information constantly flooding towards you - which the brain was not originally intended for. This seems obvious. So the fact that some people have things like crippling anxiety and OCD, or develop anti-social disorders and the like, seems like a logical result produced by a system (the brain) presented with new and inorganic conditions. On top of that, being a non-douche is naturally and evolutionarily based because it increases the likelihood that others will want to chilll'n'stuff and help you when you need it, but when transposed onto a crowded, fast-paced modernity it twists into something like flattery and competition to appear the most altruistic.
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1
I'd like to tell you a story It begins in 1492 When dear old Christopher Columbus Sailed the ocean blue He landed on what he thought To be the country of India He stumbled upon a group of people Who appeared to be indigenous Because these native people Happened to be where he thought he was He called them all "Indians" && somehow that name stuck They welcomed his group with open arms Even offered them their feast Unaware that deep inside They were but wolves, dressed as sheep Columbus && his crew Soon ravaged the land They took what they saw Then they took full command Of the people they found On the land where they landed They felt they should rule So they stepped in, heavy handed They murdered the people Who had taken them in Set fire to their villages While the victims watched with their kin Flash forward to the future It's now 2016 It's been over 500 years Since the overtaking by the regime Future settlers decided To let the survivors live on They designated them small areas Of what had not yet been robbed These Native Americans, Generally keep to themselves They get by living off their land But now they need your help The Sioux of Standing Rock Are being horribly mistreated The state of North Dakota Is poisoning them without reason A pipeline has been built That runs through this Native territory When Bismarck residents didn't want it It was rerouted, how discriminatory People from all over the country Are seeming to agree They are making the commute To protest peacefully In defense of an oppressed people Who only want to live But the government is stepping in Even blowing off some limbs "Let them die, they're not like us" the message the administration is sending It seems that after all this time The battle is never-ending What exactly does it take For people to see eye-to-eye? In the end we're all just human   We kiss, we laugh, we cry So if you have a heart at all If you know that this is wrong Please join the Sioux in their mission By coming together, we can be strong
0
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 11:30 PM UTC
FreeBird
History's Repeating
I'd like to tell you a story It begins in 1492 When dear old Christopher Columbus Sailed the ocean blue He landed on what he thought To be the country of India He stumbled upon a group of people Who appeared to be indigenous Because these native people Happened to be where he thought he was He called them all "Indians" && somehow that name stuck They welcomed his group with open arms Even offered them their feast Unaware that deep inside They were but wolves, dressed as sheep Columbus && his crew Soon ravaged the land They took what they saw Then they took full command Of the people they found On the land where they landed They felt they should rule So they stepped in, heavy handed They murdered the people Who had taken them in Set fire to their villages While the victims watched with their kin Flash forward to the future It's now 2016 It's been over 500 years Since the overtaking by the regime Future settlers decided To let the survivors live on They designated them small areas Of what had not yet been robbed These Native Americans, Generally keep to themselves They get by living off their land But now they need your help The Sioux of Standing Rock Are being horribly mistreated The state of North Dakota Is poisoning them without reason A pipeline has been built That runs through this Native territory When Bismarck residents didn't want it It was rerouted, how discriminatory People from all over the country Are seeming to agree They are making the commute To protest peacefully In defense of an oppressed people Who only want to live But the government is stepping in Even blowing off some limbs "Let them die, they're not like us" the message the administration is sending It seems that after all this time The battle is never-ending What exactly does it take For people to see eye-to-eye? In the end we're all just human   We kiss, we laugh, we cry So if you have a heart at all If you know that this is wrong Please join the Sioux in their mission By coming together, we can be strong
Continue reading...
68
Since Christmas they have lived with us, Guileless and clear, Oval soul-animals, Taking up half the space, Moving and rubbing on the silk Invisible air drifts, Giving a shriek and pop When attacked, then scooting to rest, barely trembling. Yellow cathead, blue fish ---- Such queer moons we live with Instead of dead furniture! Straw mats, white walls And these traveling Globes of thin air, red, green, Delighting The heart like wishes or free Peacocks blessing Old ground with a feather Beaten in starry metals. Your small Brother is making His balloon squeak like a cat. Seeming to see A funny pink world he might eat on the other side of it, He bites, Then sits Back, fat jug Contemplating a world clear as water. A red Shred in his little fist.
0
12.4k
Sylvia Plath
Balloons
Since Christmas they have lived with us, Guileless and clear, Oval soul-animals, Taking up half the space, Moving and rubbing on the silk Invisible air drifts, Giving a shriek and pop When attacked, then scooting to rest, barely trembling. Yellow cathead, blue fish ---- Such queer moons we live with Instead of dead furniture! Straw mats, white walls And these traveling Globes of thin air, red, green, Delighting The heart like wishes or free Peacocks blessing Old ground with a feather Beaten in starry metals. Your small Brother is making His balloon squeak like a cat. Seeming to see A funny pink world he might eat on the other side of it, He bites, Then sits Back, fat jug Contemplating a world clear as water. A red Shred in his little fist.
Continue reading...
30
Born into a world, lavish with wonder, brimming with dread. Innocent eyes unclosed, for the first time, lights and color, consume their mind. When do those eyes, lose their innocence, become eyes of anger, eyes of hate, eyes that see too much? They soon lose interest, everything eventually goes unseen. Eyes of sorrow, unfolding the past, displaying the hurt. Show me those innocent eyes, that now seeming so distant, I have only memory, of those innocent eyes.
0
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 12:32 AM UTC
samantha-jade
Distant Innocence
Born into a world, lavish with wonder, brimming with dread. Innocent eyes unclosed, for the first time, lights and color, consume their mind. When do those eyes, lose their innocence, become eyes of anger, eyes of hate, eyes that see too much? They soon lose interest, everything eventually goes unseen. Eyes of sorrow, unfolding the past, displaying the hurt. Show me those innocent eyes, that now seeming so distant, I have only memory, of those innocent eyes.
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22
Misogyny, The hatered, objectification, and sexualization of women His hands were too big for my eight year old body My stomach turned in ways I could only describe as "icky" I screamed until I could no longer feel any breath left in my lungs "Stop it! Please! I don't like this game. Daddy stop!" Time slows Seeming like an eternity Every touch was like a sparkler Burning while tracing the path his fingers left on my body When he was finally done I gathered my thoughts and prayed to God to save me When I went to the bathroom to clean up I saw his handwriting on the mirror Scrawled across it was a verse saying Hell was my only destiny My body is not a bag of bones for you to play with and the burry Poisonous words foam from your mouth like rabid dogs You pick pieces of my pride from your teeth You think it’s okay to mess with women To make them feel vulnerable Just because you have a Napoleon Bonaparte complex That does not give you the right to steal our self-esteem To make up for the lack of your own You say “Well maybe YOU shouldn’t have worn those slutty heals, Or that dress, Or your hair that way.” You say “Maybe YOU should have done something to avoid being a target.” You say “Stop being so disrespectful. I just wanted to see your **** You have a real flair for excuses So excuse me when I tell you You will regret messing with a woman like me You see, I keep my heart strapped to my steel-toed combat boots And an army of mistreated women of speed-dial We will hold you captive and make our war paint from your blood As ransom notes fall from your mouth With the words “I’m sorry” scrawled across them I hate to break it to you But those words won’t sew up the open wounds you left us with When you came in to *** in and steal our innocence The thing you don’t seem to realize is You might have taken our innocence But that’s not what we are made of We consume strength for breakfast, Courage for lunch, Wisdom for dinner, And guys like you for a midnight snack. We’re not just warriors Were survivors What you do to us doesn't define us Were not broken Were beautiful And the more I think about it You’re just dogs chained to a tree While I’m the person Who’s going to put your treachery to sleep.
0
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 7:24 PM UTC
taylor-smith-3
Ode to Misogyny
Misogyny, The hatered, objectification, and sexualization of women His hands were too big for my eight year old body My stomach turned in ways I could only describe as "icky" I screamed until I could no longer feel any breath left in my lungs "Stop it! Please! I don't like this game. Daddy stop!" Time slows Seeming like an eternity Every touch was like a sparkler Burning while tracing the path his fingers left on my body When he was finally done I gathered my thoughts and prayed to God to save me When I went to the bathroom to clean up I saw his handwriting on the mirror Scrawled across it was a verse saying Hell was my only destiny My body is not a bag of bones for you to play with and the burry Poisonous words foam from your mouth like rabid dogs You pick pieces of my pride from your teeth You think it’s okay to mess with women To make them feel vulnerable Just because you have a Napoleon Bonaparte complex That does not give you the right to steal our self-esteem To make up for the lack of your own You say “Well maybe YOU shouldn’t have worn those slutty heals, Or that dress, Or your hair that way.” You say “Maybe YOU should have done something to avoid being a target.” You say “Stop being so disrespectful. I just wanted to see your **** You have a real flair for excuses So excuse me when I tell you You will regret messing with a woman like me You see, I keep my heart strapped to my steel-toed combat boots And an army of mistreated women of speed-dial We will hold you captive and make our war paint from your blood As ransom notes fall from your mouth With the words “I’m sorry” scrawled across them I hate to break it to you But those words won’t sew up the open wounds you left us with When you came in to *** in and steal our innocence The thing you don’t seem to realize is You might have taken our innocence But that’s not what we are made of We consume strength for breakfast, Courage for lunch, Wisdom for dinner, And guys like you for a midnight snack. We’re not just warriors Were survivors What you do to us doesn't define us Were not broken Were beautiful And the more I think about it You’re just dogs chained to a tree While I’m the person Who’s going to put your treachery to sleep.
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53
What might it be, that lets some just not give up when there is absolutely no reason to continue fighting any longer ? As I question this to myself, in a room filled with candle light, I realise that it might be an ember of hope, of determination, courage and the imagination to win what lets them carry through. In this weaving melody of thoughts, breath flowing uninterrupted I want to lose myself in this wandering fragrance just for this, endless seeming, moment of unimaginable emotions. As then I remember the countless times I had lift myself up, Was it that I had abandoned hope until now or was it that my means had become pointless so I decided to give up and let this internal, inferno which let myself rise from the fires of the battlefield go out and turn into an dying ember, flickering in it's last moments. Yet I have come to understand what it really meant: The emptiness you’ve carried and lost is but nothing! Desiring the grand beauty of the heavens far above From here we may never look up nor ever return! This world shall not take even half of our spirits! And so I rise from the fire once more, after having burned, been consumed and fed by it for such a long lasting while. Because I wish to protect you, all I desire is to protect you. Thus I return into the battlefield from which I have fallen. To shine once again, illuminating your days so you may smile. ~ Umi
0
Feb 22, 2018
Feb 22, 2018 at 2:30 PM UTC
UmiofLove
The Fightingspirit
What might it be, that lets some just not give up when there is absolutely no reason to continue fighting any longer ? As I question this to myself, in a room filled with candle light, I realise that it might be an ember of hope, of determination, courage and the imagination to win what lets them carry through. In this weaving melody of thoughts, breath flowing uninterrupted I want to lose myself in this wandering fragrance just for this, endless seeming, moment of unimaginable emotions. As then I remember the countless times I had lift myself up, Was it that I had abandoned hope until now or was it that my means had become pointless so I decided to give up and let this internal, inferno which let myself rise from the fires of the battlefield go out and turn into an dying ember, flickering in it's last moments. Yet I have come to understand what it really meant: The emptiness you’ve carried and lost is but nothing! Desiring the grand beauty of the heavens far above From here we may never look up nor ever return! This world shall not take even half of our spirits! And so I rise from the fire once more, after having burned, been consumed and fed by it for such a long lasting while. Because I wish to protect you, all I desire is to protect you. Thus I return into the battlefield from which I have fallen. To shine once again, illuminating your days so you may smile. ~ Umi
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23
Our fighting spirit is the flame of our souls Ensures us to reach in our most desperate times impossible seeming goals Even if you should be full of misery, full of holes, it picks you up, fills you with confidence, pride, excitement and determination, Maybe this seems like an exaggaration, or an excavation of falsities, But with it you would be able to work as hard as the birds, or even the bees, Even though you seem like you can't go on, saying " this is it " There is an ember from the bottom of your heart which has been lit, So get rid, of all your doubt, of all your inconfidence, rise from the fire I am sure, the fight is gonna be worth it, you will reach even higher, As long as you carry this flame within you and the noble desire, To never, ever give up. ~ Umi
0
Jan 24, 2018
Jan 24, 2018 at 7:40 PM UTC
UmiofLove
A fight to the finish
Our fighting spirit is the flame of our souls Ensures us to reach in our most desperate times impossible seeming goals Even if you should be full of misery, full of holes, it picks you up, fills you with confidence, pride, excitement and determination, Maybe this seems like an exaggaration, or an excavation of falsities, But with it you would be able to work as hard as the birds, or even the bees, Even though you seem like you can't go on, saying " this is it " There is an ember from the bottom of your heart which has been lit, So get rid, of all your doubt, of all your inconfidence, rise from the fire I am sure, the fight is gonna be worth it, you will reach even higher, As long as you carry this flame within you and the noble desire, To never, ever give up. ~ Umi
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12
*all seemed chaos incoherence and seeming defeat it was as if in crucifixion i walked but for awhile resistance commenced corroding to surrender in quiet then the gift appeared more majestic than i possibly could have imagined oh god you were there all along and i never journeyed alone and lo, but with acceptance of this truth all was revealed ©2016janetaylor
0
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 8:29 PM UTC
jane-taylor
the journey
*all seemed chaos incoherence and seeming defeat it was as if in crucifixion i walked but for awhile resistance commenced corroding to surrender in quiet then the gift appeared more majestic than i possibly could have imagined oh god you were there all along and i never journeyed alone and lo, but with acceptance of this truth all was revealed ©2016janetaylor
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13
Three weeks gone and the combatants gone returning over the nightmare ground we found the place again, and found the soldier sprawling in the sun. The frowning barrel of his gun overshadowing. As we came on that day, he hit my tank with one like the entry of a demon. Look. Here in the gunpit spoil the dishonoured picture of his girl who has put: Steffi. Vergissmeinnicht. in a copybook gothic script. We see him almost with content, abased, and seeming to have paid and mocked at by his own equipment that's hard and good when he's decayed. But she would weep to see today how on his skin the swart flies move; the dust upon the paper eye and the burst stomach like a cave. For here the lover and killer are mingled who had one body and one heart. And death who had the soldier singled has done the lover mortal hurt.
0
7.6k
Keith Douglas
Vergissmeinnicht
Three weeks gone and the combatants gone returning over the nightmare ground we found the place again, and found the soldier sprawling in the sun. The frowning barrel of his gun overshadowing. As we came on that day, he hit my tank with one like the entry of a demon. Look. Here in the gunpit spoil the dishonoured picture of his girl who has put: Steffi. Vergissmeinnicht. in a copybook gothic script. We see him almost with content, abased, and seeming to have paid and mocked at by his own equipment that's hard and good when he's decayed. But she would weep to see today how on his skin the swart flies move; the dust upon the paper eye and the burst stomach like a cave. For here the lover and killer are mingled who had one body and one heart. And death who had the soldier singled has done the lover mortal hurt.
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24
I was in a darkness of my own Within a night I had not known I chose to stumble in my pace With all hope of light misplaced On my course a twinkle caught my eye A lonely star in the sky above Getting ever brighter as I drew nigh Then did I see the truth thereof It was a myriad in mutiny A constellation that raided the night Luminous in its beauty A radiance which compelled my sight I was in a darkness of my own Overcome by a light unknown That eased my path in grace And all lost hope replaced It reclined in the cosmos Calling out to me Seeming within reach almost Then I blurred back to reality A marvel that pulled my soul By more than figure of speech To be part of a whole My flesh could never reach How daunting a brilliance I longed for though farfetched My heart need travel a distance Fear served only to stretch It held my tarrying gaze For only a moment more Then left me in a daze Stealing that which I adore I again stumble in my pace Having lost my stars in space Returned to a state I now bemoan I am in a darkness of my own.
0
Dec 28, 2018
Dec 28, 2018 at 5:49 PM UTC
DikeAduluso
Constellation Beyond Reach
I was in a darkness of my own Within a night I had not known I chose to stumble in my pace With all hope of light misplaced On my course a twinkle caught my eye A lonely star in the sky above Getting ever brighter as I drew nigh Then did I see the truth thereof It was a myriad in mutiny A constellation that raided the night Luminous in its beauty A radiance which compelled my sight I was in a darkness of my own Overcome by a light unknown That eased my path in grace And all lost hope replaced It reclined in the cosmos Calling out to me Seeming within reach almost Then I blurred back to reality A marvel that pulled my soul By more than figure of speech To be part of a whole My flesh could never reach How daunting a brilliance I longed for though farfetched My heart need travel a distance Fear served only to stretch It held my tarrying gaze For only a moment more Then left me in a daze Stealing that which I adore I again stumble in my pace Having lost my stars in space Returned to a state I now bemoan I am in a darkness of my own.
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36
Delicately pink hearts gently unfurl From nests of lively minds; There is nothing weak about Southern women We are supposed to wear ugly dresses, Enamel bugs, French scarves that wrap around and Tie us all together from the inside out Football and sassy new haircuts might not make faces look younger, But they can lift spirits And just because you spend all day advising others Of their secret trials Doesn't mean that you can hold your family in a cage, Golden and happy though you may want things to be. Remember that if you feel new, an outsider, Your personal tragedies seeming too much to bear, You will always find comfort in laughter Especially if laughter through tears is your favorite emotion. You might not pick up boys or money, But friendship steeps in small salons Like sweet tea. Prickly sarcasm and pessimism aren't always the hallmarks Of a heart devoid of caring, It's just a natural response after two deadbeat husbands and Three ungrateful children; somewhere in all of it is a promise Of hope. And even in a barren womb new life is discovered, And even in death joy is found, And even through pain, Sisterhood blooms, Delicate steel petals enveloping grieving hearts.
0
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 3:44 PM UTC
CheshireCat92
Steel Magnolias
Delicately pink hearts gently unfurl From nests of lively minds; There is nothing weak about Southern women We are supposed to wear ugly dresses, Enamel bugs, French scarves that wrap around and Tie us all together from the inside out Football and sassy new haircuts might not make faces look younger, But they can lift spirits And just because you spend all day advising others Of their secret trials Doesn't mean that you can hold your family in a cage, Golden and happy though you may want things to be. Remember that if you feel new, an outsider, Your personal tragedies seeming too much to bear, You will always find comfort in laughter Especially if laughter through tears is your favorite emotion. You might not pick up boys or money, But friendship steeps in small salons Like sweet tea. Prickly sarcasm and pessimism aren't always the hallmarks Of a heart devoid of caring, It's just a natural response after two deadbeat husbands and Three ungrateful children; somewhere in all of it is a promise Of hope. And even in a barren womb new life is discovered, And even in death joy is found, And even through pain, Sisterhood blooms, Delicate steel petals enveloping grieving hearts.
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30
Features, my reflection— subtle hints stare back offering wordless reply, their evidence a betrayal of age. A wrinkle looking deeper, mane of face, of head—hairs fresh lacking pigment. Vain attempts made to mend heart, to sooth soul's dread. Testimony of experience of wisdom, persistence, perception, an impotent contraceptive, the argument aberrant. Regret to cloud memory, my youth seeming a flesh and blood cliche. Tiny footnotes heavy with prose, words in bold to distract mind's eye—a demand of attention. Edging out tomb's more beautiful weight of love and heartache of passion's attempt failing, to try again, sinking before succeeding. An era's dusk and dawn anew, life's advent unpredictable—without cause changing. Notion hanging lingering, poisoning future, the venom of defeat an insidious invasion. This new age creeping toward night in this stage my life's sun less bright. Maturity's introduced responsibility, some enjoyable while others to own hostility. A brigand mugging freedom—time for leisure. Spurring combat for what remains of youth, fingers wrapping air in futile seizure. The inevitable to command subservience, presuming ownership of life, though the mature demonstrate the defiance of the immature. Objects, activities, music assaulting ear, their manner, symbols of strict adherence to who once was— a spiteful surrender refusal. A piece of me defining me until no more, years holding power—threatening to change who I am at very core. Canvas construction the colour of murre, rubber toe caps the shade of pure. Design worn since youth, dead and resurrected; a million mile shoe of valorous resistance—insurrection, a Converse rebellion. In torment of age's scars, I'll never be too old to wear my All Stars.
0
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
shaun-meehan
Converse Rebellion
Features, my reflection— subtle hints stare back offering wordless reply, their evidence a betrayal of age. A wrinkle looking deeper, mane of face, of head—hairs fresh lacking pigment. Vain attempts made to mend heart, to sooth soul's dread. Testimony of experience of wisdom, persistence, perception, an impotent contraceptive, the argument aberrant. Regret to cloud memory, my youth seeming a flesh and blood cliche. Tiny footnotes heavy with prose, words in bold to distract mind's eye—a demand of attention. Edging out tomb's more beautiful weight of love and heartache of passion's attempt failing, to try again, sinking before succeeding. An era's dusk and dawn anew, life's advent unpredictable—without cause changing. Notion hanging lingering, poisoning future, the venom of defeat an insidious invasion. This new age creeping toward night in this stage my life's sun less bright. Maturity's introduced responsibility, some enjoyable while others to own hostility. A brigand mugging freedom—time for leisure. Spurring combat for what remains of youth, fingers wrapping air in futile seizure. The inevitable to command subservience, presuming ownership of life, though the mature demonstrate the defiance of the immature. Objects, activities, music assaulting ear, their manner, symbols of strict adherence to who once was— a spiteful surrender refusal. A piece of me defining me until no more, years holding power—threatening to change who I am at very core. Canvas construction the colour of murre, rubber toe caps the shade of pure. Design worn since youth, dead and resurrected; a million mile shoe of valorous resistance—insurrection, a Converse rebellion. In torment of age's scars, I'll never be too old to wear my All Stars.
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49
The dwindling days fly past and I remain, Though freighted by regrets and photographs. The errors and the losses a refrain Repeating, repeating; then someone laughs, Returns me to the moment with a smile. This child, with vast bright future all before, Oblivious to older cares will while Away the hours (seeming infinite); more I cannot ask: the truth I cannot say. A child knows both much more and less than I. The moment past, the truth I cannot stay; Regrets in hand, I wander home and sigh. Death is a secret.  No one speaks his name. But one day we will have to say he came.
0
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 11:32 AM UTC
elizabeth-campbell-donaldson
Days
The dwindling days fly past and I remain, Though freighted by regrets and photographs. The errors and the losses a refrain Repeating, repeating; then someone laughs, Returns me to the moment with a smile. This child, with vast bright future all before, Oblivious to older cares will while Away the hours (seeming infinite); more I cannot ask: the truth I cannot say. A child knows both much more and less than I. The moment past, the truth I cannot stay; Regrets in hand, I wander home and sigh. Death is a secret.  No one speaks his name. But one day we will have to say he came.
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14
Family what is family. The people that decide to catch you before you fall. Or the people that decide to pick up the broken pieces when you’ve been smashed into millions. The millions of millions that no one else would be willing to pick up. Even if those millions of millions was just a game to pick up a few missing parts. They are the ones that will build a fortress around you and tell you the world is not safe for you my child. But they will let down that gate, even knowing that the world isn’t good enough for you. Family will have left the gate open for you to leave, but they will always beg for you not to go. Even after you’ve left that mighty fortress they built all for you, they will cast themselves out to watch over you. They will be the birds spying over your life, seeming to always be there, singing along to your tune of life. Although family will also be the birds waiting above in the trees, ruining the new wash done to your car. They will always mean to do their best; they will give all of what they can give and more. No matter if they have to fight off the jackals of fate to speak to you once more, they will find a way. If you are in another castle they will travel once more and once more until they find you again. No matter how lost you become they will find the light in the deepest of caverns. And if there is no light they will bring their own, because they know what will lighten you up. Understanding they will be, knowing that tough times are tough to get out of. With that knowledge they will be the best to have around, they are the ones that will accept that we all sometimes frown. They are the blessing of life not only because they build fortresses around you, but have the ability to let you live. No, they are a blessing because whenever you finally find out that they were the reason to so much happiness. They will be there wondering, **** how did you just find out?
0
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 4:16 AM UTC
Penguin
The Fortress around You
Family what is family. The people that decide to catch you before you fall. Or the people that decide to pick up the broken pieces when you’ve been smashed into millions. The millions of millions that no one else would be willing to pick up. Even if those millions of millions was just a game to pick up a few missing parts. They are the ones that will build a fortress around you and tell you the world is not safe for you my child. But they will let down that gate, even knowing that the world isn’t good enough for you. Family will have left the gate open for you to leave, but they will always beg for you not to go. Even after you’ve left that mighty fortress they built all for you, they will cast themselves out to watch over you. They will be the birds spying over your life, seeming to always be there, singing along to your tune of life. Although family will also be the birds waiting above in the trees, ruining the new wash done to your car. They will always mean to do their best; they will give all of what they can give and more. No matter if they have to fight off the jackals of fate to speak to you once more, they will find a way. If you are in another castle they will travel once more and once more until they find you again. No matter how lost you become they will find the light in the deepest of caverns. And if there is no light they will bring their own, because they know what will lighten you up. Understanding they will be, knowing that tough times are tough to get out of. With that knowledge they will be the best to have around, they are the ones that will accept that we all sometimes frown. They are the blessing of life not only because they build fortresses around you, but have the ability to let you live. No, they are a blessing because whenever you finally find out that they were the reason to so much happiness. They will be there wondering, **** how did you just find out?
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21
people find it hard to believe happiness because for many, it’s much more of a myth or a hazy recollection than it is something real and rational and to be aspired too love and hope and dreams have taken on this air of imagination in recent generations for a brief moment, they were truly believed in by the adults by the people in charge by the whole wide world even as everything they knew before had crumbled and wrecked to a state beyond their power to repair but it was that desolate place the world was that drove the people to believe in such fancy and frivolous thoughts because if they had not, the world would’ve withered and died, like a cow so old you know there’s no hope or a flower so far gone that you don’t mind to let it wilt those times went though, like a leaf upon the wind, as the children began acting as the adults and followed their dreams to a land so few actually reached and as the adults saw their failure and the children saw the adults flee the belief in love, in hope, in dreams, in morals, in rites, in traditions, in togetherness, in family, in belief- failed and sunk the last tip of the ship leaving the surface with the first person who believed in the infomercial we do not know what we can do because we do not believe we can do anything happiness, as I started this all out with, is not a bed-time story it is very real and it is very powerful but in each average person’s life they get to experience only once or twice, seeming like a random occurrence, and thus cementing in so many people’s minds that it is but it is not happiness comes from knowing how to be happy it’s not about sacrifice or faith or hard-work or dedication it’s about knowing who you are, what the world is, and how you can make the best of it this is not some secret art it is a simple idea: that happiness can be controlled and it’s execution is even simpler: how can I be happy? how can I be happy, forever?
0
Dec 23, 2010
Dec 23, 2010 at 8:28 PM UTC
wave-break
turkeys scramble (the dog howls)
people find it hard to believe happiness because for many, it’s much more of a myth or a hazy recollection than it is something real and rational and to be aspired too love and hope and dreams have taken on this air of imagination in recent generations for a brief moment, they were truly believed in by the adults by the people in charge by the whole wide world even as everything they knew before had crumbled and wrecked to a state beyond their power to repair but it was that desolate place the world was that drove the people to believe in such fancy and frivolous thoughts because if they had not, the world would’ve withered and died, like a cow so old you know there’s no hope or a flower so far gone that you don’t mind to let it wilt those times went though, like a leaf upon the wind, as the children began acting as the adults and followed their dreams to a land so few actually reached and as the adults saw their failure and the children saw the adults flee the belief in love, in hope, in dreams, in morals, in rites, in traditions, in togetherness, in family, in belief- failed and sunk the last tip of the ship leaving the surface with the first person who believed in the infomercial we do not know what we can do because we do not believe we can do anything happiness, as I started this all out with, is not a bed-time story it is very real and it is very powerful but in each average person’s life they get to experience only once or twice, seeming like a random occurrence, and thus cementing in so many people’s minds that it is but it is not happiness comes from knowing how to be happy it’s not about sacrifice or faith or hard-work or dedication it’s about knowing who you are, what the world is, and how you can make the best of it this is not some secret art it is a simple idea: that happiness can be controlled and it’s execution is even simpler: how can I be happy? how can I be happy, forever?
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83
I definitely won’t make any apologies for saying this and if anyone isn't careful she’ll leave them in a ditch. But don't get me wrong, I am not referring to any woman by that name only to the powers of deception that are played within the devil's game.                      When you consider how much trouble she has caused; without a moment’s lapse or of one repentant paused, in human affairs over the years since the advent of man; it’s a wonder that she hasn’t yet been flushed in the pan. In case you might just be wondering what I’m talking about Maya is the female equivalent of Satan who is a **** lout, and who plays around deceiving anyone that ignores the Truth which has been ingrained in our mind and heart since our youth. In fact anything that is Divine, noble, good and of inestimable worth Maya will try to turn it around into a thing seeming of much less birth. She thus plays around with our emotions causing one to doubt and fear where the reality of a situation would be to have faith and some cheer. Her main battle is waged within a vulnerable human heart and mind especially when an individual is undergoing difficulties of any kind. She is also the one who arouses anger, jealousy, lust, greed and pride, being full of all those traits herself and more she projects them outside. We must try and be aware of the extent of her subtle delusion and escape any entanglement in the net of her worldly illusion; that so many people are now caught up in without their real knowing not realising that Love and Truth are the things most worth showing. ______________________________
0
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 2:18 AM UTC
George-Krokos
Maya Is A *****
I definitely won’t make any apologies for saying this and if anyone isn't careful she’ll leave them in a ditch. But don't get me wrong, I am not referring to any woman by that name only to the powers of deception that are played within the devil's game.                      When you consider how much trouble she has caused; without a moment’s lapse or of one repentant paused, in human affairs over the years since the advent of man; it’s a wonder that she hasn’t yet been flushed in the pan. In case you might just be wondering what I’m talking about Maya is the female equivalent of Satan who is a **** lout, and who plays around deceiving anyone that ignores the Truth which has been ingrained in our mind and heart since our youth. In fact anything that is Divine, noble, good and of inestimable worth Maya will try to turn it around into a thing seeming of much less birth. She thus plays around with our emotions causing one to doubt and fear where the reality of a situation would be to have faith and some cheer. Her main battle is waged within a vulnerable human heart and mind especially when an individual is undergoing difficulties of any kind. She is also the one who arouses anger, jealousy, lust, greed and pride, being full of all those traits herself and more she projects them outside. We must try and be aware of the extent of her subtle delusion and escape any entanglement in the net of her worldly illusion; that so many people are now caught up in without their real knowing not realising that Love and Truth are the things most worth showing. ______________________________
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25
)               .   )          (                          )      (       (              )         )            (          )                   )      (        (        )        )                            (          )        )     (       (    (                               )               (                       )               there you are...sitting right across • and here i am...fidgeting in my seat •searching for words...but seeming- ly at a loss•only the eloquence of my racing, thumping heartbeat• trading only in silent words and coy gazes•mingling within the tendrils of  wafting steam• divine  moment  as the heart rapidly races• over our hot cuppas, soaring into caffeine fueled dreams•
0
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 10:55 AM UTC
ryn
Hot Cuppa
)               .   )          (                          )      (       (              )         )            (          )                   )      (        (        )        )                            (          )        )     (       (    (                               )               (                       )               there you are...sitting right across • and here i am...fidgeting in my seat •searching for words...but seeming- ly at a loss•only the eloquence of my racing, thumping heartbeat• trading only in silent words and coy gazes•mingling within the tendrils of  wafting steam• divine  moment  as the heart rapidly races• over our hot cuppas, soaring into caffeine fueled dreams•
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18
Sept. 29th, 2014 Is combing and brushing your eyebrows in the morning. It's leaning on the cold car window with earbuds and as the last notes play, thinking "Please don't make this a happy song I don't deserve a happy song." It's seeing ads for a clearance sale plastered on a store that almost never is occupied and seeming to just know that it's it's subtle way of going out of business. It's knowing and not believing. It's breaking out in a cold sweat when you finish a book. It's wishing I could go home and lie on my carpet and peel all my skin off then crawl back inside and maybe feel comfortable this time.
0
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 5:35 PM UTC
magdalyn
September 29th
Sept. 29th, 2014 Is combing and brushing your eyebrows in the morning. It's leaning on the cold car window with earbuds and as the last notes play, thinking "Please don't make this a happy song I don't deserve a happy song." It's seeing ads for a clearance sale plastered on a store that almost never is occupied and seeming to just know that it's it's subtle way of going out of business. It's knowing and not believing. It's breaking out in a cold sweat when you finish a book. It's wishing I could go home and lie on my carpet and peel all my skin off then crawl back inside and maybe feel comfortable this time.
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17