"similarities" poems
When people ask if you're weird, or tell you,
or want to believe themselves strange,
eclectic, or odd.
It's vaguely disgusting to me,
cringeworthy in a mild degree.
We think we're so different,
but we are not.
The individualism of people
should be and is comparable
to the individualism of ants.
Who looks at the anthill and
sees something in particular,
something behaving specifically
"uniquely"
from every ant and every anthill?
Why do you believe in yourself?
I see this, as a conversation about
depression, and your partner
does not respect you
but instead wants to
tell you how they feel worse,
or have it worse, or "understand" more
about the affirmation or situation.
A person looking for individuality
through a lens of misery, anguish, and sadness,
is truly alone in their minds, and missing the
reality that these depressions exist without them.
The statement, "you are not alone" is an attack,
or an offense to these people, because it says
"you are not as unique as you think",
it strips them of their identity and individuality.
This is true of many ideologies and affirmations.
I quit individuality, this constricting sense
of holding everything of yourself in center,
to be a drop in the whole, something fluid.
If you split your affirmations from yourself,
you'd see we're all the same;
Affirmations are just currents in the ocean.
I look at myself; and people see a man,
a radical feminist, and sometimes a musician.
As labels, these each have their own presupposed notions,
[especially, "man" or "male" in the patriarchal gaze]
which hardly, if ever, are true,
but as affirmations, when I consent to using them,
these are no longer stereotypes that constrain me,
but similarities that I realize
I can embrace or shut out in others.
Affirmations do not make me more unique,
but similar to more people.
If I remove these affirmations to try and get to my "true" center,
my purest form of self, I see I am without meaning.
This is why I quit Individuality.
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 1:59 PM UTC
Our roots twist and twine...
His leaves are soft and plush.
Trunks pressed flush, spine to spine,
Whispering acceptance with each gentle touch.
Light against dark, sun-dappled silk and bark;
Here, in his cooling shade, I long to stay-
Differences insignificant, similarities stark;
Love, a simple word, to which we waste away our day.
He brightens the shadows
With such a caring smile...
Even you would lurk in his meadows,
And hope to stay a little while.
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 8:35 PM UTC
Five separate entities
Whose lives seem to intertwine with stunning similarities
A brown thin thorn
As sharp as a knife
That hurt everything its comes into contact with
But seems to beg for forgiveness from its victims
A rose with petals so bright
Shining their color into the world
That screams for attention
Yet seems to hide from plain sight
A long thin stem
As weak as a piece of paper
That somehow holds up the great rose
But seems to strengthen with each wind blow
A bright green fuzzy leaf
Feeble and soft
That cries for attention from the rose
Yet seems to fade into the background
A single flower root
Dark Brown and thin as a piece of string
That reaches into the earth grasping for a stronghold
Yet seems to fail in comparison to the large, strong roots
A yellow and black bumblebee buzzing along
Happy-go-lucky and unaware of the looming storm
That longs to pollenate the rose
Yet seems to die more with each passing moment
Five separate entities
Whose lives seem to intertwine with stunning similarities
Yet grave differences
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 10:13 PM UTC
Stumbling into ancient scripts, authored a decades plus ago,
ago being a modifier of time quantities, minute or large, unspecific
without an objective adjective additive, that faucets a stream of an interlocutory elocution of a batter of rooted emotional histories,
but not histrionics
fanciful words for dredged up memories, acute, but tarnished,
powered yet worn by a cousin of ago, a/k/a,
age
and yet
renews as of,
at this very second, as if it were a first, a tumult of visions, swelling of remembrances, embodied scars, and I weep anew but not
for me, as much for the resonating simpatico souls with whom
they even now vibrate with resonance of the immediacy of
If not now, When?
Aside: The exterior environment is noisy wet pelting of thunderstorms and ****** sheets of bulleting rain, piercing projectiles, but I am safe in the sunroom, sadly happy my dog is no longer here to shiver and tremble, cuddle and be soothed by steady stroking
But I am here, wrestling with this dredging operation, digging up
tons of sand that require dumping, and I ask, inquire, beg:
Who will take this detritus off my hands, once more, now uncovered,
now recovered, the soil is already soaked and can absorb no more,
the soul is already soaked and can absorb no more, the weakened
heart, damaged and occluded, suffer cannot bare twice the
outrageous misfortune
of unbared recollections, twice, or thrice, and I feel myself drowning in revisiting pain, **** **** **** these old poems, not nuggets, but boulders dropping from night skies, shot from a pitching machine, without letup, piercing of agonies that once ago
freshly desecrated and decorated my basic training in humanity.
Enough whining:
*I wrote those poems to
eject out those pains,
and I write this now, once more,
to realize that so so many still face
uncertain and unrelenting similarities,
doing their own sums,
and I wish them easing,
strength to compose and
thereby dispose of
the ineloquent
and eloquent
words of staining suffering*
3:30am
Thur
July 10
2025
Jul 16, 2025
Jul 16, 2025 at 5:39 PM UTC
*The wait is an eternity like a mailed message.
The excitement of opening you up and reading every little text.
Your darkened ink hair dripping on my hands and I love the way you leave a flowered scent on them.
I play my favorite songs and I think of you.
The similarities we share lets me know the world is not vacant of awakened people.
I keep you in mind.
I keep you in mind when I scroll past one of your social media quotes and Like it.
You deserve my love, my unconditional love, my wild and passionate love, my fighting love.
I'm a clumsy mess, a reckless greasy rocker, a psychedelic wanderer but I'd gladly give you my best.
Dance with me on top of rooftops, in drunken heavenly ecstasy.
Playing music and looking into your eyes, you would read my soul and I would read yours and you would never ever feel alone again.
Breath me in, inhale deep, get high of me, smile, laugh, your my source of beauty.
Truth be told I don't want perfection, it's boring, I want you.
I want you with me when the apocalypse strikes.
I want you in the morning and in the night.
I want your angry tantrums because I know Life
And I want to heal you when you have them.
Athena, Otherworldly Goddess, Femenista, Mujer Guerillera, Gaia of Earth, I am your poet and you this poem.*
** - your secret admirer**
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 4:46 PM UTC
May I join you in the doghouse, Rover?
I wish to retire till the party's over.
Since three o'clock I've done my best
To entertain each tiny guest. My conscience now I've left behind me,
And if they want me, let them find me.
I blew their bubbles, I sailed their boats,
I kept them from each other's throats. I told them tales of magic lands,
I took them out to wash their hands.
I sorted their rubbers and tied their laces,
I wiped their noses and dried their faces. Of similarities there's lots
Twixt tiny tots and Hottentots.
I've earned repose to heal the ravages
Of these angelic-looking savages. Oh, progeny playing by itself
Is a lonely little elf,
But progeny in roistering batches
Would drive St. francis from here to Natchez. Shunned are the games a parent proposes,
They prefer to squirt each other with hoses,
Their playmates are their natural foemen
And they like to poke each other's abdomen. Their joy needs another woe's to cushion it,
Say a puddle, and someone littler to push in it.
They observe with glee the ballistic results
Of ice cream with spoons for catapults, And inform the assembly with tears and glares
That everyone's presents are better than theirs.
Oh, little women and little men,
Someday I hope to love you again, But not till after the party's over,
So give me the key to the doghouse, Rover
7.8k
after centuries and centuries and centuries of:
pain and suffering,
chains and ankle cuffing,
segregation and impossible laws,
human degredation and deaths for the cause,
coloured lines and last picks,
work in the mines and barbie-like wigs,
culture termination and the education of self-hate,
fake freedom motivation and penitentiary execution dates,
community sabatoge and destruction of black owned schemes,
settle down for hip hop dialogue and basketball dreams
racial slurs and monkey metaphors,
television blurs and the world shutting doors,
the white man's drugs and melanin filled prisons,
talent that lacks funds and vietnam missions,
death of our black icons and imprisonment of mandela
death of trayvon and others on the death list which could go on forever...
do you have the right to tell "bottom barrels" not to dream to be on the top?
do you wonder why forgiveness is slowly yielding in the world, as if it sees a sign that says it's time to stop?
do they not say we must practice what we preach?
are they not preaching hate?
are they not preaching inequality?
are they not preaching the false levels of life?
is it too hard for the world to practice equality?
is it too hard for the world to live in harmony?
is it too hard for the world to see the similarities in our differences?
is it too hard for the world to live without fear of colours?
is it too much to ask for peace???
- t.m
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 2:25 PM UTC
IMAGINE
Just imagine loving someone just looking at them
observing their smallest gestures and acts
& getting excited like a kid
where you never found yourself like this before
laughing just because they are laughing
getting touched with their words which were actually so usual
sometimes being lover feeling proud
sometimes feeling like a mom who is proud of her child
finding the cuteness in their hotness
finding the vividness when everything was blur
finding the similarities knowing more as if like a serious PHD
and
and that smile when you watch their pic
where one day suddenly finding out that you can hear pictures
finding out that their name had became an emotion
and finally accepting the truth that
they actually don't even know your existence
but also accepting that this will be the love till eternity
May 23, 2021
May 23, 2021 at 8:42 AM UTC
Generations of people perceiving things
In different levels
The understanding in different horizons
The horizon to the shore
To the infinity
The earth brings out everything new
Adaptability is the key
Acceptance is the key
New perceiving
New beings
New thoughts
New love
New cravings
New addiction
New generation
New adaptability
New addiction
New mistakes
New evolution
New matches
New mismatches
New sun
New moon
New stars
New wrongs
And the new rights
The flow continues beyond understanding
And let it be
Understanding does not matter
In the whole change is inhabitable
Change is real
Also the experience
Perceive the change in the outer world
Bring out the change in the inner world
Have a common path in between
Let it be
Perceive change around
Is the only thing important
The understanding is void
Don't ever complain about what you cant understand
And you cannot in many cases
No worries
Accept it
It is real
It is true
Perceive
Feel
And let go
In a deeper sense of course
Dip into the thought
Illuminate
Feel the new sun
New moon
A new day
Come fresh and tidy
Accept the change in real
From without and within
Keep your arms wide open
Broaden your arms
Chant the prayers to the universe
Surrender to the universe
Universe knows it all
Trust
You are the part of the whole
The whole is the universe
Created by the universe
Above and beyond
To the eternity
You are the universe
You are the change
You are the perceptions
You are the feel
You are the agenda
You are the thoughts
You are the eternal soul
And everybody around are
And every things around are
Take a deep breadth and
Function as you should
Function as you are
Function as a change within
Function as the change without
Function as the change around
Different generations
Differences as seen
Perceiving
The around and within
As a rule or the knowns
By themselves upon themselves
The new one
Having a change
Of terms
Of rules
And of surroundings
Different from the generations gone
The new ones for sure
Has a new things to do
Has a new idea
A new rule
New love
New connections
New mistakes
New rights
And the new wrongs
The change is there
Perceiving and generations
Different in emotions
Different in righteousness
Different in fulfillment
Different in atrocities
Different in perceptions
Different in locality
Different in the differences
And similar in a way
They are different
Only thing common
Is the change
Have you the perception
To get into the change
Around, within and without
The change is happening
It is present
It is the thing to feel
To perceive
Try to understand, the less you get it
Feel the change
Percepts of change
Accept the change you must
Teach change if you can
Be a change if you ought to
For the new ones
For the old ones
And for the no ones
Take a deep breadth
Feel the cool breeze of change
Breathe the change
Live the change
Teach the change
Be the change
See differences seem to be similarities
Notion of diversities
Notion of change
Notion of no differences
Notion of similarities
People and generations
Perceiving things
At different levels
Inhabitable is the change
Perceiving change
Is the key
In general
To say the least
Chants
Abundance
Belongingness
Grace
Love
Alive
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 10:45 PM UTC
Iced Coffee for Two
it’s more like milk with sugar than coffee, but the ice is a dead giveaway
yet when i drink them, so do you
or rather, i buy one for myself, and you put your distracting lips on my straw
thank you for asking, by the way
it’s not like i would say no- how could i??
how could i ever deny that face of yours anything you ask me for
my love for you is as black and white as my iced coffee and your backpack are
we are not total opposites
on the contrary, our similarities are why we are bestfriends
but you come along, with your smile and those compelling eyes of yours and
you drink my coffee
you smirk and make conversation and i laugh while
you drink my coffee
you talk to your girlfriend
you hold hands on your way to class
while i stand on the sidelines watching
you
drinking my coffee
then she kisses you
tasting my coffee
she drinks my coffee
don’t you understand??
you drink my coffee
i drink my coffee
this is the way it is supposed to be
this is what is right, the way it should go but instead
you drink my coffee
and when your cold, perfect lips meet with hers in what i’m sure is
an electrical kiss, a display of love
she too, drinks my coffee
she tastes the delicious, sweet flavor of my creation
she drinks my coffee
but it was not meant for her
to drink
no, it was meant for me
i bought it so i could drink it
savor it, enjoy it
then share with you and watch
you drink my coffee
don’t you understand??
this is the way it goes, the story of our
iced coffee for two
k.m.c
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 4:26 PM UTC
.*i guess a loss of subscriptions is, somehow, a badge of honor, namely? i somehow managed to attach a screwdriver to my words... why? read below... English women consider motherhood to be a job... how ******* demeaning! gone are the days of womanhood attaining the stature of god, in the Christian methodology of encompassing the pivot of lady Madonna... perhaps a too high peddle-stool? i guess so... i'm not usurping the female status, but elevating a female stature, deeming motherhood an UNESCO status? seems it's too much... for some people... who make it necessary to befriend their shadow, and travel to the hinterlands.*
just your atypical pedantry,
a translator's subscript comment -
who's richard rojcewicz's...
regarding what?
heidegger...
das volk,
and the three derivatives -
volkhaft (populist),
volklich (communal)
und?
völkisch (folkish) -
i'm starting to suspect that
i'm tapping in the all things folk....
unconsciously, favoring folk
music...
see, us central europeans,
we bunch together and share
the most odd similarities -
i never thought that the song
herr mannelig could be translated
from Swedish - as it was
translated into German...
then again... Vikings founded Kiev...
and all these loan-words
of Germanic origin in Polish...
the only Anglo loan-word
that i know of, is, weekend...
hence, das volk, people -
by the way... German has "too many"
definite articles,
and only one ein - or eine -
is that the same rule as in Ęnglish?
i.e. N
in an example,
rather than in a counter example?
two vowels adjacent in separate
word, sitting across from the grand
chasm of... a spacing itch?
but look at German, i never get it...
DAS DIE DER...
is there an aesthetic difference,
and only an aesthetic difference
to mind?
bewildering...
if there is such a thing as a western
civilization...
that sometime
pompous obnoxiousness,
fair enough... no problem:
but learn to hide it,
feel it, rather then feed it...
it's not a question of a civilization,
but more...
an answer to what is less
civilization, and more... a chore...
just like western women,
notably the english women
call motherhood a, "job"...
it's a... wait... a job?
doubt was big in classic philosophy
of the Cartesian schematic...
so no one knows that
the French existentialists
brought in negation,
as the driving force to replace
doubt?
who the hell sees doubt
these days?
either the know it alles -
or the hush-hush crowd...
motherhood is a... job?
well... then i guess, being a man...
western civilization,
by that standard of logic...
can't be anything more...
than a.... ******* chore!
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 8:33 AM UTC
Eminem. He reminds me of you. Both of y’all ruined your lives at one point, both beat up on the mother of your kids, both neglected your kids at some point, let drugs take over your lives. So many other things you have in common too. But just a few differences; one of you has talent, one of you made a life for yourself, one of you did all the things and regretted that his kids saw it all, one of you I like and look up to. I’ll give you a hint, it ain’t you.
But I started thinking. I love Eminem so much, he is awesome and amazing. Why do I like him so much but I don’t like you? He is rapping his heart out about beating on the mama of his children… and I rap along. I rap along rapping my heart out with the lyrics of his songs. How come I copy his words and not yours? Interesting isn’t it?
I was laying in my bed a few days ago, and I just got done watching Ant-Man. I love Marvel, did you know that? No, OFCOURSE you didn’t. Why? Because you don’t bother to ask. Ever. Maybe I would have a little more respect for you if you did ask. When was the last time you asked me personally what I liked? Marvel, I like Marvel. Ant-Man in particular. Do you know about Ant-Man? Well here is the important parts I am getting at, he went to prison, for stealing a huge amount of money so he can provide for his daughter. People blame the bad guy, but do they ever get to the root of the problem? No.
Do you know what Ant-Man, you and Eminem have in common? You all have a daughter you try to provide for, and you all took the wrong ways. That is what I at least want to believe why you broke probation, for us. Doubt it, probably for drugs. But you know what Eminem and Ant-Man have in common that you don’t? They told the truth to their daughter’s faces about what they did. Eminem is not afraid to tell the world about what he did. Ant-Man is not real, so I can’t compare you to him. Eminem is real. You may be thinking “but he is famous you can’t compare me to him either”, but guess what? He started from dirt and he ended up where he is today.
His mom did nothing for him, I don’t even think he talked about having a dad providing for him. You know what you had? A mom, and a dad. Who put a roof over your head. His mom made him drop out of school to help provide for the home or move out.
You know what is really funny? Why do I know so much about Eminem then I do about my own father? I don’t even know who you are… All I know about you is you have a criminal record, you are somewhere in the southern part of the U.S, and your name is Richard David Lowe. You know that I had to find out your middle name by asking momma. The only thing that I kept holding on to that I knew you liked was Eminem. I remember traveling a long way to see you and then I was SO excited to tell you that I listened to Eminem, Mocking Bird to be exact. Do you remember that?
So, I look up to Eminem, because he is honest… You have so many similarities, but one huge difference. He told the truth…
Dec 6, 2019
Dec 6, 2019 at 10:43 AM UTC
In Worcester, Massachusetts,
I went with Aunt Consuelo
to keep her dentist's appointment
and sat and waited for her
in the dentist's waiting room.
It was winter. It got dark
early. The waiting room
was full of grown-up people,
arctics and overcoats,
lamps and magazines.
My aunt was inside
what seemed like a long time
and while I waited and read
the National Geographic
(I could read) and carefully
studied the photographs:
the inside of a volcano,
black, and full of ashes;
then it was spilling over
in rivulets of fire.
Osa and Martin Johnson
dressed in riding breeches,
laced boots, and pith helmets.
A dead man slung on a pole
"Long Pig," the caption said.
Babies with pointed heads
wound round and round with string;
black, naked women with necks
wound round and round with wire
like the necks of light bulbs.
Their ******* were horrifying.
I read it right straight through.
I was too shy to stop.
And then I looked at the cover:
the yellow margins, the date.
Suddenly, from inside,
came an oh! of pain
--Aunt Consuelo's voice--
not very loud or long.
I wasn't at all surprised;
even then I knew she was
a foolish, timid woman.
I might have been embarrassed,
but wasn't. What took me
completely by surprise
was that it was me:
my voice, in my mouth.
Without thinking at all
I was my foolish aunt,
I--we--were falling, falling,
our eyes glued to the cover
of the National Geographic,
February, 1918.
I said to myself: three days
and you'll be seven years old.
I was saying it to stop
the sensation of falling off
the round, turning world.
into cold, blue-black space.
But I felt: you are an I,
you are an Elizabeth,
you are one of them.
Why should you be one, too?
I scarcely dared to look
to see what it was I was.
I gave a sidelong glance
--I couldn't look any higher--
at shadowy gray knees,
trousers and skirts and boots
and different pairs of hands
lying under the lamps.
I knew that nothing stranger
had ever happened, that nothing
stranger could ever happen.
Why should I be my aunt,
or me, or anyone?
What similarities
boots, hands, the family voice
I felt in my throat, or even
the National Geographic
and those awful hanging *******
held us all together
or made us all just one?
How I didn't know any
word for it how "unlikely". . .
How had I come to be here,
like them, and overhear
a cry of pain that could have
got loud and worse but hadn't?
The waiting room was bright
and too hot. It was sliding
beneath a big black wave,
another, and another.
Then I was back in it.
The War was on. Outside,
in Worcester, Massachusetts,
were night and slush and cold,
and it was still the fifth
of February, 1918.
3.5k
One star lit night I sat down to write, A Little short poem about dragons and kites
Though In nature they do differ still the similarities remain,
One’s found in a fairy tale adventure the other in a child's small hand to entertain.
One has sharp teeth and a mouth that spits fire,
One holds a boys dream of a future aviator to inspire.
They both have long tails, though ones lined with ribbons the other lined with scales
And magic wings that lift them up higher over the highlands and vales
While catching a ride on the back of a strong wind gale
One lives in a cave and the other a toy box,
One sleeps on a rock and the other hangs from tree tops.
One’s tamed by the pull of a kite runner’s string,
The other steered by a dragon rider straddled between its wings.
One’s made from myth, legend, folklore and fear,
The other made from the design and blueprint of an inventor's mind's idea.
Ones made of sinews, muscles, flesh and bones,
The others made of a cross wooden stick frame over which cloth is stretched, and sewn.
Ones enchanted by wizards and knighted by kings,
The other’s to cheer up a child's heart and fulfill all his wishes and dreams.
And now out of my head my subjects take flight,
Now I do find there's no more to write,
Of the different and likes between dragons and kites.
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 1:26 AM UTC
*of flavor
in an A-ha moment..
at these differences
we smile.. :)
fractals are about
similarity and difference..
connectedness rules..
Let us inquire
of the similarity
in the bursts above..
all similarities
find Torus shape..
Torus is formula
iterating creating all
differences we find..
On a vertical column
curved surface surrounds
a hidden black hole..
at a Point
black hole turns white..
now our bursts
all are as One..
The Torus needs
motivation to move
arousal and stimulation
below and above..
all this Similarity
iterates the differences
so striking we see..
More differences now:
succulent juices
pulses and flow
DMT liquid light..
all these differences..
really..?
we smile again.. :)*
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 11:29 PM UTC
Slotting into geological time
"As a man thinks, so is he", ferillergood ye may
as well add as subtract.
Am i right or am I wrong?
Dexter, yeh, that'n
or Sinister.
Being left or right,
That's jest sided-ness, a sort,
a me-trick-able stackable thing,
with an in
side and an out
side and a top outside and a bottom outside
and a front inside and a front backside
and a back frontside with its own inside.
Like you.
Value pends 'pon sorts of things
into similarities of singularities,
if I got that message un occluded or
unveiled of sacred meanings.
There seemed to be no code
"if a man (voice) says a thing that is true, but
I did not say it: does that make it untrue?"
I answered, "Lord, you are truth."
Wow. Look what I said. truth you are lord.
Punctuated equilibrium humm white noise of wonder
can it be?
'Think so.
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 3:17 AM UTC
I saw the smooth hands of children grow calloused,
sanded by the empty hopes
that the cold has whittled down and sharpened into crucifixion nails.
Dragging their feet through broken glass and street waste, one shoe one sock,
I thought they were just urban children, or the ones
in malaria countries. But I see them stagger now, older, defeated
baring their bodies and chewing on their brains, teaching the little ones
how to polish shoes and hide in alleys that smell like **** and assault.
That one looks like me, his guardian about my size, so I pull my coat closer.
I recognize him from school in the smell of unwashed hair and the gurgle of
A self-digesting gut, nothing to soak up the acid that burns his throat.
I watched the world ******* them into hunched shoulders and boney legs
that have forgotten how to hug and run, trapping them in a constant state of shuffling
to the music of moans and cries for help. They come together in an urchin clan underneath bridges and on the exit ramps of highways.
Prophets of the future clutching at signs about war and veterans, the bad economy and the children they can’t feed.
Ten dollars to the one with the mut. Offer him a smoke.
Politicians act like clean-up crews, counting them like statistics;
This one is gone, the one on Brown street died,
We got rid of the one looking for cans in the student neighborhood.
Charity elevates them into a an opportunity—
A little money to the unfortunate is like bleach for your soul. Just enough
to get the smell of affair out of your hair, or to clean up the poison in your veins.
God helps the outcasts; five dollars ought to do it.
I shudder at our similarities. Brown hair, brown eyes, smart.
His sign ignores no rules of grammar and deserve credit for its precise calligraphy,
The dog at his side is ***** and worn like the stuffed toy
I covet from the nights in my crib—the same. He is a victim of people, I am a victim of people
Both someone’s child, both like dogs.
I watch as he turns into a younger man, and then an old man, and then a woman,
A child with no shoes and crucified hands, the boy in my class with eyes that devour.
I walk home, wondering what kind of charity will save me from myself.
And that is the problem.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 12:10 AM UTC
"I am truly losing faith in humanity." This is the phrase that provokes so much frustration in me. Tell me how this does not hurt you just by being okay with speaking it or writing it. Are you not humanity, are you not of the same bones and flesh as me. Do you not battle through struggles and have the livest moments as me. Have we not mourn the same when we lose something precious or realized the hate that tries to consume our people? Are we not one race of people? Tell me how you do not sit in puzzlement having stated that you do not have faith in yourself. Do tragedies put out your flame so quick. Instead of rising to conquer change no matter the time or loses, you crumble. My sisters and brothers, I am Honduran but my love does not stop at my roots. My kindness does not only affect people of my own ethnicity or skin color. We're a human race and no I do not speak that we should be blind to our cultures and each other's beginnings. I speak that being so different does not mean we are not as well immensely similar. Recognize my skin, recognize my language, recognize my roots, my religion, my traditions, my scars. Recognize all of me. And LOVE me still to no end. These tragedies will not further prosper when you have faith that, with a race with this much diversity, we will find the solution and stop these hate-crimes that make some of us even ponder the thought of defeat. I have grown to learn that this is the change, seeing the enormous difference in each other but seeing all the similarities and having it urge us to close the gap with knowledge and understanding. This is our peace. Learning of one another. This is our hope.
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 1:37 PM UTC
Dear Perfect Girl,
Grounded in the real world
Taking care of herself like you’re rooted in a material one
Your eyes and smile never cease to amaze
But it’s your ambitions that set my heart ablaze
Your laugh puts a smile on my face
That seems to erase and replace
The negative and repetitive
If only for a second
I love our similarities
But our differences make it worthwile
From your taste in music to your sense of style
Because a venn diagram without differences is a circle
And I’d rather go the extra five-thousand two-hundred and eighty feet
To be close to you
Than to already understand most of you
By understanding myself
Dear Perfect Girl,
There are dimes that will do anything for a nickel
And nickels out making dimes
But I want your two cents
And though I may laugh at it
I take it to heart sometimes
Because like a game of monopoly
I don’t want to find myself back at the start
And I don’t really watch chick flicks
But I saw 500 Days of Summer
And you’re my Autumn
To which I’ll be sprung for in the winter
I wear no mask for you
Because I’ve divulged my past to you
For you are presently in my future
And though you may be a feminist I’ll try and be a perfect suitor
Dear Perfect Girl,
You say you’re OCD about some things
But it’s your imperfections that are great for me
And though I’m not sure I’ve met you yet
I dare you to wait for me
Because every day I improve myself
In preparation for thee
And a relationship you won’t forget
I’ll wear knee pads and a helmet
For when the day comes that I’m head over heels
I’ll be able to get up in time to catch you
When you fall in love
Disney taught me to wish on the stars above
And I’ve wished on every star
Thrown a penny in every fountain
And spent every 11:11
Wishing for you
Perfect Girl
Dec 12, 2011
Dec 12, 2011 at 7:02 PM UTC
We are forward open thinkers
we dream of a new
without forgetting what was
With peculiarities spawned eccentricity
to keep us ourselves as one,
like no one
Without urge to be separate
we are oneself
together, we stand alone
Side stepped and vertically diagonal with grace, not trials in stride
From the waking moment routine
each day changes course
with similarities
while optional barriers are welcome
to overcome with effort
And using that effort to affect wisdoms spread and elongate strength
We work for our capacity,
at home we also work,
to make a better day
To create,
To expand
to not keep motionless
our minds
our hands
our brains in bloom.
And think and hold this knowledge tight
at one point it will open the mind of our young, to lose self and to give.
To always give.
Minimize me, I, or mine.
Talk through with question,
regardless of proof, or wrongfulness.
And wonder about laws and why?
We think. We know.
To traverse with love
In between and the seconds linking,
we desire
The ones we are near, can feel without doubt and never wonder if love was emitted.
We will communicate frequently
how they make us whole and have affected us to completion
and reraise when obstacles come towards
With complex strength and wage forward,
insist the double down
Using knowledge, work, perseverance,
and to bring it all home
To positively conquer
...using love.
Apr 21, 2018
Apr 21, 2018 at 3:35 PM UTC
Never met someone like you before
I never claimed to be perfect;
I only claimed this was worth it
And if we didn’t do it, then tell me who did?
My silver bullet Princess, my darkest dream,
You make me feel complete.
A shot through my heart and hello or goodbye.
We will not be finished by this sunlight,
For we will continue to search, maybe in vein,
For love eternal; eternally loves slave.
If the skies keep on falling down on me,
Then how am I supposed to live, not grieve?
I am living at the end of tomorrow,
Too fearful of new beginning’s.
All I am selling is worthless to your soul
And in the end we end up with what we began with long ago.
The things on this Earth we gather to our hearts,
In time become worthless when compared to the stars
And all we cherish only to become lost,
We wish to keep, or take back, but are unwilling to pay the cost.
At my weakest point, still I reach for your love.
If we never did meet, then would we ever have known trust?
I trust in you because love dares me to;
I risk it all on the roll of a chance dice,
Hoping your hand will carry me through.
It’s our differences that define us,
So let our similarities forever bind us.
Two hearts beating as one;
An endless love built on trust.
(C)2018 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Dec 27, 2018
Dec 27, 2018 at 9:05 AM UTC
Four leaf clovers birthing books
Your old horses came and took
Your father back into your life
Leading sobriety through letting go
A year with no sips has come to show
The truth to these words we step
I think grass is next on the list
Back and forth we're in the mist
It's hard to give up this smokey bliss
Talk of future business I know I'm yours
Our past should show the similarities
Your treatment should show our differences
We dabble and dart and laugh away
Overflown with tears we laugh today
**** our faults we'll be okay
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 5:35 PM UTC
I wonder how this world would be
if we somehow learned to see beyond
the shallow meaningless differences
we base our biased judgements on
superficial labels dividing us and them
like who we pray to, where we’re from
who we sleep with, which side we’re on
language and even the color of our skin
how different would our little planet be
if our eyes could only see past these
and uncover the beautiful similarities
of who we all truly are deep within
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 11:49 AM UTC
I still have that bottle of Jack you never finished
(Don't worry, I finished it for you)
And that empty bottle of beer you left by my bedside the night you took one of the last firsts that I had
And now that you've left
I'm starting to see similarities between myself and the bottles
Empty
Maybe I keep them around for like minded company
Empty
Or maybe I keep them around to remind me of your heart
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 2:17 PM UTC
...my mom tells me as she tucks me to sleep.
Her eyes are bright blue with similarities to the Tenerife Sea. Solid, bright but with an icy touch. I believe her.
Then my eyelids flutter open after a kiss and I stare into a young man’s brown eyes. Solid, deep, full, sincere, warm. I trust him more than I should.
My own eyes aren’t that easy to decode. They’re a complete mess.
A chaos of color conflicting with eachother, instead of settling on one.
Blue when I wake up,but green when I step outside.
If eyes really are the windows to the soul what does that say about me?
Am I splatters of different colors floating around like petals in a mysterious endless lake in the forbidden part of the forest?
Am I a rainbow only to be seen clearly when both rain and sun hits upon me?
Am I a bouquet filled with different flowers plucked different places with different stories?
Forests are easy to get lost i.
Lakes are easy to drown in.
Rainbows are not tangible.
Flowers are pretty but their lifespan is short after having been plucked.
I wish I wasn’t a chaotic mess.
That I wasn’t torn in between the things I want, the things I can, the things I have, the things I want to be.
I hope that one day my eyes and mind will make up their will.
But for right now, I my eyes may stay a chameleon.
Only seen by those who really see.
Dec 14, 2016
Dec 14, 2016 at 1:18 PM UTC