"sisters" poems
Dearest friend, parent, lover
Whoever might be reading this
I'm sorry i couldn't stay strong.
I'm sorry i couldn't stand it anymore
It's not anyones fault, i just wasn't meant to be here.
Just like those flowers that never bloom. They just grow and starts hanging a bit, then dies.
Dear younger siblings.
Don't look up to me, look up to people like daddy or momma, they're happy, i weren't. One life lesson i've learnt is that happiness doesn't come without courage, but with too much courage you'll get tired and let go when you finally get there, and you'll end back where you started.
Dear older "sister"
You know who you are and you're probably reading this right now, smiling at how i mention you as my sister. You're the best person to ever be in my life, and even though you told me a couple of years ago that you were lesbian i never rethought the meaning of your hugs, cause i know we're sisters.
If it wasn't for you i would have done this a lot earlier so thank you.
Dear parents.
Don't cry, i'm not worth your beautiful tears.. I have nothing more to say than i know you lost me, but don't lose courage.
Dear best friend.
Thank you for always being there.
Thank you for telling me that everything will be alright.. It just hurts me to say that you were wrong.. And i'm sorry cause i know this will bring you pain.. But i know you have some other. Nice friends who'd support you.
Dear stranger.
I'm sorry if i was goind to know you in my no longer exisisting future.. You're better off without me anyways..
Dear myself.
I'm sorry i can't hold on anymore, i know that you had your happy times, and that a lot of people longed for your life, but i couldn't stand it anymore..
Dear person
I'm sorry the voices became too much.
I'm sorry i ran out of place to make scars.. I'm sorry i couldn't stand this inner pain anymore.. Dear person.. I'm sorry.. Goodbye..
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 1:27 PM UTC
I Don't Average Out
I remember crying during lunch my senior year —
my math teacher's eyebrows colliding,
one plane folding into a fractal.
He had sat there, nearly four years,
watching me struggle through an unreal number of numbers —
literally and figuratively —
while again and again the test scores whispered:
You
are less
than average.
But behind the eyes of a determined man
my insecurities never won.
He refused to believe the numbers.
He was searching for some unspoken meaning —
and so was I.
I almost found it the day of graduation.
I almost found it between his eyebrows,
creased like a point of pride —
because I was the first of my family
to hold something as light as a diploma
instead of a heavy head,
nodding under the weight of ******
The first to feel like a feather
instead of a six-pack,
a bad back,
the slow grind of manual labor.
I was flying.
Then college tried to land me.
Again I let an institution measure me.
Test scores trying to tell me what I was worth —
intelligence reduced to something
too narrow to understand its own diversity.
Less than average, they said.
But I wasn't below the line —
I was just outside it.
An individual
above their point of comparison.
I could read a room like a text.
I could build connection out of nothing.
I could debate, move, make people feel something.
Gold doesn't average out either.
So I learned —
it wasn't the diploma I should have chased.
Not the thing I'd wave at my little brothers and sisters
to show them how to live better,
burn brighter,
burn longer.
Here I am.
Red-faced and unafraid.
Spoken word was always there —
hiding between the creases of my teacher's brow,
folded into the question I didn't know I was asking.
The answer was never in his book.
It was in his look.
In his refusal to quit on me.
I could have found it sooner
if I'd known what I was searching for.
I
am
not
stupid.
I haven't failed by choosing something
the institution doesn't recognize.
I am not defined by a score,
a line,
a rule,
a rhyme.
I don't average out —
and that is not a weakness.
Power isn't in a piece of paper.
Power is in your words.
In your chosen behavior.
In the silence you finally break.
The answer was never in his textbook —
it was in his persistence.
In the way he looked at me
like the numbers were wrong.
He just didn't have the words to say it.
But I do.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 2:16 PM UTC
Have you ever watched the light,
The diamonds of the mind,
Fade out of focus never to return?
Felt your forefathers disappear
From your reality only to haunt
You in the dark of night when you
Are all alone and feeling like
You're out of time?
Marched down the aisles of faces
That are burned into your eyelids,
So whenever you close your eyes,
To try and be alone to escape,
With a weight in your hands
And on your shoulders?
Well then join me,
Brothers and sisters new and old,
Welcome to the fatherless.
Welcome to the ranks,
With tired eyes and weary hands,
We are joined in mourning.
Welcome to the fatherless.
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 1:23 AM UTC
‘To bed! To bed!’
Said Sleepy-head;
‘Tarry awhile,’ said Slow;
‘Put on the pan,’
Said Greedy Nan;
‘We'll sup before we go.’
(from Mother Goose)
They sat at the kitchen table as
The candle flickered low,
And Greedy Nan put on the pan
To indulge her sister, Slow,
While Sleepy Weepy Annabelle
Blotted her book with tears,
And thought of her Beau from long ago
Who she hadn’t seen for years.
‘Why doesn’t Roger notice me,
Why doesn’t Alan Dell?
I’m wearing the dress cut low for me
And I’ve hitched my skirt as well.
I’ve a pretty turn to my ankle, so
You’d think it would drive them wild.’
‘But men are a mystery,’ said Slow,
‘And Alan Dell’s a child.’
While over the pan stood Greedy Nan,
Was cracking a turkey’s egg,
A lump of yeast and a slice of beast
And a single spider’s leg.
With a wing of bat and an ounce of fat
And a toe of frog for the spell,
She needed to turn her sister off
From her crush on Alan Dell.
For Greedy Nan was the eldest girl
And would have to marry first,
The other two would wait in the queue
Or their fortunes be reversed,
The omelette sizzled, and in the pan
She added before they saw,
A piece of some Devil’s Trumpet plant
For the mating game meant war.
She sliced the omelette into half
And she served them up a piece,
‘Didn’t you want?’ said Annabelle
But Slow enjoyed the feast.
‘I’m not that terribly hungry now
I’ve cooked it up in the pan,
I think I’ll just have a slice of bread,’
Said the scheming Greedy Nan.
They finished up and they sat awhile,
And they mused about their fate,
‘If Greedy Nan isn’t married soon,
For us it will be too late.’
‘I’ve set my sights on a country squire,’
Said Nan, without a blink,
Lured them away from her secret fire
To confuse what they might think.
‘The room is woozy, spinning around,
I’d better get me to bed,’
Said Annabelle, while Slow with a frown
Saw Dwarves dancing in her head.
But Greedy Nan was cleaning the pan
To clear all signs of the spell,
Her back was turned to her sisters, spurned
For the sake of Alan Dell.
And when he came in the morning
Greedy Nan was sat by the door,
While Annabelle and her sister Slow
Were lying dead on the floor,
‘I didn’t mean it to **** them, Al,
It was only a simple spell,’
But as he cuffed and led her away
He frowned, did Alan Dell.
David Lewis Paget
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 8:01 PM UTC
The great thing
is not having
a mind. Feelings:
oh, I have those; they
govern me. I have
a lord in heaven
called the sun, and open
for him, showing him
the fire of my own heart, fire
like his presence.
What could such glory be
if not a heart? Oh my brothers and sisters,
were you like me once, long ago,
before you were human? Did you
permit yourselves
to open once, who would never
open again? Because in truth
I am speaking now
the way you do. I speak
because I am shattered.
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there was a slice of chocolate cake in the fridge
and my sister asked me if i wanted it.
i didn't respond, stared off into space
and continued to smoke my cigarette
in the kitchen because mom was
asleep already and it was 1 am
on a saturday in july
and it was hot and we were both braless and hoping
the single fan on the counter would circulate the air enough
to make us comfortable in the cottage that we called home
that didn't have air conditioning in the middle of the woods.
the three of us hadn't moved for three more hours,
instead spent all of that time talking about nothing
and everything the way sisters do
because sisters eventually end up saying all the words that have
to be said
but each time it sounds new even though it never is.
we're all different but the thing about sisters is
that other people always see you as the same.
we all eventually grew into having brown hair
even though i had been born a redhead
and she had been born blond
and she had been born the same shade of brunette
that still graced her scalp but was thinner than the rest of ours
and fit in an elastic pony tail comfortably
unlike mine, which broke those things immediately
and she, who cut hers all off in hopes
to cleanse herself and
keep herself from being weighed down.
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 4:16 PM UTC
Moon marked and touched by sun
my magic is unwritten
but when the sea turns back
it will leave my shape behind.
I seek no favor
untouched by blood
unrelenting as the curse of love
permanent as my errors
or my pride
I do not mix
love with pity
nor hate with scorn
and if you would know me
where the restless oceans pound.
I do not dwell
within my birth nor my divinities
who am ageless and half-grown
and still seeking
my sisters
witches in Dahomey
wear me inside their coiled cloths
as our mother did
mourning.
I have been woman
for a long time
beware my smile
I am treacherous with old magic
and the noon's new fury
with all your wide futures
promised
I am
woman
and not white.
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Our Mothers, lovely women pitiful;
Our Sisters, gracious in their life and death;
To us each unforgotten memory saith:
"Learn as we learned in life's sufficient school,
Work as we worked in patience of our rule,
Walk as we walked, much less by sight than faith,
Hope as we hoped, despite our slips and scathe,
Fearful in joy and confident in dule."
I know not if they see us or can see;
But if they see us in our painful day,
How looking back to earth from Paradise
Do tears not gather in those loving eyes?--
Ah, happy eyes! whose tears are wiped away
Whether or not you bear to look on me.
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I remember the rains that day,
A shower of hate that won’t go away,
The day seven of the year ninety four,
When pain suddenly opened the door,
And nothing was ever going to be the same anymore,
With machetes and guns they marched,
Aiming for our limbs to detach,
Sworn they did that no INYENZI would escape their grasp,
They swore that all would experience their wrath,
Genocide it was called but the truth not told,
The rains struck hard smell of rotting flesh,
Cries from a distance heard but ignored,
No one would even dare talk or whisper,
**** the cockroaches was the message from the speaker,
It was the rainy season the beginning of a massacre,
Women and children are alienated from their land,
Refugees in camps away from their land,
The African holocaust had began in Rwanda,
It took a while for the world to ponder,
The ones who had the power to stop it kept quiet,
They gave neither reason nor excuse for their silence,
They waited until we all lost our patience,
It was the rains in Rwanda the day of mourning,
It was the season to prepare for farming,
But I can bet the world saw it coming,
But none gave a **** from the beginning,
And so began the killing,
Brothers and sisters turned enemy,
Neighbors turned into strangers,
**** ****** mutilation humiliation torture,
Tribal hatred fueled by the west,
When will Africa come to rest?
And understand that we are one race,
One love one place one earth,
Let’s have love and peace,
BY ISSAI
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 3:24 AM UTC
And if you think I'm oppressed,
covering my hair with a silken headdress-
And if you think I'm forced,
beaten, to lengthen my sleeves and elongate my shorts-
And if you think I'm afraid,
cowering under the protection of black linen shade-
You 'most certainly take note of the society's improprieties,
that the abaya I wear is thrusted upon me,
that the niqab my sisters practice is only for he;
No. My hijab is my personality, my promise to honour my femininity,
to never allow anyone, any man, to use me;
I am a woman, a human, a feminist:
no man will control me.
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 9:13 AM UTC
Build me a slow boat to Timbuktu via China
Heave down a fleecy cloud and let me float to Nirvana
Hunt me a unicorn and let me ride to the Enchanted Forest
Find me a giant eagle and let it lift me to Outer Mongolia East
'please don't leave me here amongst demons with human faces'
Show me a Church and I'll show you a hall full of Sinners
Point out a wife and I'll reveal a liar and a fake and none dimer
Call a Doctor and its a Monster who betrayed the Hippocratics
That Government Boss is a cruel heinous snake without ethics
'please don't leave me here amongst demons with human faces'
See that Preacher and see a spineless hypocrite back-stabber
That lover was nothing but a sick deranged false **** twister
My dear acquaintance a heartless corrupted shyster unhinged
A Newsagent full of pitiless, gloomy, vile, psychotic joy-suckers
'please don't leave me here amongst demons with human faces'
That friend of years a bloodsucking Judas who betrayed and stole
Uncles who rained terror with sadistic pleasures in parts unwhole
Show me nieces and find two-faced ******* with poisons in veins
Neighborhoods full of silent killers and Rapists of truthful genes
'please don't me leave here amongst demons with human faces'
A vicars' daughter wielding angst axes better than a viking
The pathetic Moors zombies tearing flesh on masters beholding
The dead-eyed Arabs salivating madly or at daggers drawn
Contemptible Men-kids with pin ****** used as King's pawns
'please don't leave me here amongst demons with human faces'
Build me a cottage in rolling green fields with blue skies
Find me a fair maiden with a true heart and warming smiles
Show me a place that holds fairness and justice real and dear
A world with humanity we're all sisters and brothers for care
'please don't leave me here amongst demons with human faces'
[email protected] August2018
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 11:44 PM UTC
I've never been a boobtube man
On me or on others
Stand up against these tubular *****
My sisters and brothers
Jul 27, 2012
Jul 27, 2012 at 8:37 PM UTC
A Year ago, in the same date
As A Stranger I entered this beautiful Garden Hp
A Beautiful flower (Elsa) drags me with her pure heart
Wise words (from wolf, Sir Poet,Jack, etc.) kept me to know the life’s secret
Sweet buds (Smiriti, Aarvie,) enjoys me with their great writes
Love Birds (Brandon &jane;) echoes me their beautiful rhythms
My Beautiful Bros (ryn, Joe, pradip,spt, Mufiq) supports me and admires with their strong writes
My Sweet sisters (Donna, pax, nimah, Vicki) fills my heart with their pure poems
All my new friends (Eddie, patty, gray l, tropica, wepping willow, Mysterious , Jimmy, its gona make sense, packin heat ,Poetry journal,Dark n beautiful, Wilson, Rose, James, Margaux, Asim, etc) gave me beautiful space and spirits..
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 1:31 AM UTC
I love my *******
One, slightly bigger than the other
I could not live without them!
All my love to all the women
saved by mastectomies,
Sisters, allow me,
to sip,
at the well of your Courage.
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 7:12 AM UTC
Are you struck with her figure and face?
How lucky you happened to meet
With none of the gossiping race,
Who dwell in this horrible street!
They of slanderous hints never tire;
I love to approve and commend,
And the lady you so much admire,
Is my very particular friend!
How charming she looks — her dark curls
Really float with a natural air;
And the beads might be taken for pearls,
That arc twined in that beautiful hair:
Then what tints her fair features o'erspread -
That she uses white paint some pretend;
But, believe me, she only wears red
She's my very particular friend!
Then her voice, how divine it appears
While carolling: "Rise gentle moon;"
Lord Crotchet lastnight stopped his ears,
And declared that she sung out of tune;
For my part, I think that her lay
Might to Malibran's sweetness pretend;
But people won't mind what I say —
I'm her very particular friend!
Then her writings — her exquisite rhyme
To posterity surely must reach;
(I wonder she finds so much time
With four little sisters to teach!)
A critic in Blackwood, indeed.
Abused the last poem she penned;
The article made my heart bleed —
She's my very particular friend!
Her brother dispatched with a sword,
His friend in a duel, last June;
And her cousin eloped from her lord,
With a handsome and whiskered dragoon:
Her father with duns is beset,
Yet continues to dash and to spend —
She's too good for so worthless a set —
She's my very particular friend!
All her chance of a portion is lost,
And I fear she'll be single for life;
Wise people will count up the cost
Of a gay and extravagant wife:
But tis odious to marry for pelf,
(Though the times are not likely to mend,)
She's a fortune besides in herself —
She's my very particular friend!
That she's somewhat sarcastic and pert,
It were useless and vain to deny;
She's a little too much of a flirt,
And a slattern when no one is by:
From her servants she constantly parts,
Before they have reached the year's end;
But her heart is the kindest of hearts —
She's my very particular friend!
Oh! never have pencil or pen,
A creature more exquisite traced;
That her style does not take with the men,
Proves a sad want of judgment and taste;
And if to the sketch I give now,
Some flattering touches I lend;
Do for partial affection allow —
She's my very particular friend!
15.3k
~
Precious Padma
You dearest aquatic flower
You grew in murky waters
Unblemished by its impurity
But come they did
*To ****** your petals*
And leave you a burning stem
Never can they take from you
The spirit of your plainsong
It continues to grow in your sisters
And in a time and season so near
They will sing your hymn
As one substantial voice
The changing winds will then
Lift it higher
~
Dec 9, 2019
Dec 9, 2019 at 2:29 AM UTC
We join together for: We together fight We together walk We together winTo champion a causeTo inspire each otherTo defeat cancerIn honor of our mothers our sisters our friends ourselvesWe don't do this because we have toWe do this because we are inspired toWe band together, a sisterhoodOvercoming what we mustTo give what we canWe ask only this of you: See us - Cheer along our route Join us - Donate to our cause Be us - Walk these 60 milesThese 60 miles, walked by my sistersSoon to be walked by meWill touch the hearts and lives of Those we love Those we join Those we meet YOUWe call ourselves "The Sisterhood of Pink Sneakers"We walk the greatest distance we can to fight breast cancerSee what we are all about: The3day.org
Feb 25, 2010
Feb 25, 2010 at 5:04 AM UTC
Le ***** Quest
Glasses up, Hair down
*** up, Face down
Ignore the sisters, I’m after the cousins
The catholic approved crevasse to bust in
I wouldn’t say im obsessed
But the ***** demon has me possessed
I’d call you blessed, its what you guessed
I’m hard pressed to bend you east and get at the west
I’m on a ***** quest with a lascivious request
to admire the caboose cleft
I can’t repent the intent of this unspent cement
But I’ll give up hemp for lent
Embark on a posterior pilgrimage of preposterous proportions,
Devoted to the search for thy voluminous bloons for which I swoon
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 11:50 PM UTC
You do the math and I'll provide the irrationals,
as I tend to cling to panic in the asymmetry of life.
In this Twenty-First century women still suffer
from laws streaming out of councils of men.
These are not self-stabbing heroines,
they do not ask the heavy deluge of derision.
They are faced with laws stemming from an abbatoir,
from men who wish to usurp the birthright.
Men who have become strangers to their own mothers,
men whose ***** dispense a fouled milk,
men who deserve an **** ultrasound colonoscopy.
So, I beg you to balance the inequality of the equation,
gather our sisters in this non-Euclidean space:
this is one we solve by inspection!
May 5, 2012
May 5, 2012 at 10:57 PM UTC
My name is Ashly (yes spelled without
the E)
I was born without a windpipe and was 3 months premature.
I underwent surgery for a tracheostomy and died on the operating table.
I was revived.
I was hooked up to many machines and my parents were told I wouldn’t live for more then 3 days...
If I would survive more then 3 days I would be hooked up to machines my whole life and be in a “vegetative state”
Doctors told my parents and family “I would never live to see my 18th birthday.”
I lived in the hospital for almost 2 years.
At age 2, I myself, ripped out my tracheostomy (which could have killed me)
My family rushed me to children’s hospital and the doctors decided to let the hole in my neck close and see what happens.
My doctors don’t know how I made it through the night or days after.
I went home after a couple weeks and that’s when I started living my life as a “normal” child.
All of my sisters were involved in dance classes, my parents( doctors didn’t agree) enrolled me in to classes.
THATS WHERE MY LIFE CHANGED
Dance became my passion, along with gymnastics and musical theatre.
Something my family, doctors or even myself never thought I would EVER do.
On my 18th birthday it was a mixture of emotions.
I made a milestone that no one said I would ever see.
I competed in dance and gymnastics until I was 19 years of age as well as did over 60 musicals at my local theatre company.
I never thought I would ever have a boy love me because I had “too many problems” or even get married for that matter.
Fast forward, I am now almost 33 ( June .11th is my birthday)
Married for almost 8 years to my best friend.
Happy doesn’t even cover what I feel everyday waking up next to my love.
We may not have a “family” of our own but we are happy and in love over the moon with one another.
So why did I just ramble on with this?
Because I’m a MIRACLE and a SURVIVOR.
Even though I don’t remember much from my childhood and what I and my family had to endure, I have been fighter since my first breath.
I’M A SURVIVOR and I’VE MADE IT....
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 3:09 PM UTC
On a mythical Mumbai weekend,
of no serene start or dubious end,
with imaginary beauties, invisible friends,
I stepped out of a puffing train,
my long unkempt hair a lion's mane,
getting used to my twitching tail,
Posing on the Gateway of India,
the extraordinary explorer pose,
took a boat to Elephanta (sans the hose),
and when my shivering co-passengers
had finished feverishly taking pictures
and started screaming holy mothers and sisters,
I took off from the starboard end,
and became the first man-lion to
cross the polluted Indian channel,
surviving to make the news channels,
my scientific name listed as a brand new mammal,
my mating call recognized as a gushing gargle,
On a mythical Mumbai weekend,
of no serene start or dubious end,
with imaginary beauties, invisible friends,
I devoured deep-kissing lovers for lunch
at Bandstand's low-tide on a hunch,
to the delicious sound of munch! munch!
even as Shah Rukh Khan watched disgusted
from his big big bungalow by the sea,
and as the city sharpshooters came after me,
and later when they brought me down,
from Nariman Point building, like KING KONG,
I tuned a dusty guitar and sang a melancholy song,
on the death of adventure, love and reality,
dangers of delusions, lethargy and self-pity,
repression, horniness and too much TV,
down in a shower of bullets when I went,
sky like the coming of rain, godspeed, godsend,
in a mythical city, where nothing is really meant,
On a mythical Mumbai weekend,
of no serene start or dubious end,
with imaginary beauties, invisible friends...
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 11:01 AM UTC
together
the first flower bloomed
with her sisters
we watched it waver
as storms weeped
and weathered
we planted more seeds
of glowing hope
wishing, one day
we could see
it flourish
into a beautiful garden
we could explore
forever
Mar 29, 2019
Mar 29, 2019 at 4:49 PM UTC
Divine Minds Transcend
We must follow the trail of crumbs, the crumbs of celestial static.
Hold on to the secret truth, it's time to follow the white rabbit.
Down, down the rabbit hole where it leads few will ever know.
I am not what I was, I was what I will never be again,
I found myself on the outside of a mirror looking in.
An enemy betraying a friend, and then my mind was shattered. Worthless fears crumble to the floor, then the transformation began.
We are mindless souls bouncing off one another
until the gears fit and the machine begins to thrive.
Together the powers united can be a force greater then life,
the truth that leads us separately to a place our souls are defined.
Not by the conflicted mind but by the spirit that resides inside,
break through the dimensional barrier
as time and the universe collide.
I am not here to control you, I am not here to pass judgment.
I am not here to behold you, I am here to join you in flight.
I am not like the others, like you, I am bound by destiny,
connected sisters and brothers, the story is ours to write.
We must follow the trail of crumbs, the crumbs of celestial static.
Down, down the rabbit hole, it's time to follow the white rabbit.
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 7:20 AM UTC
A Muslim boy with a clock
Is seen as a terrorist with a glock
Maybe i'm right, maybe i'm wrong
But if he were White, Asian, Hispanic or even Pacific Islander
Nobody would of suspected anything.
When are we going to stop fearing an entire race for only a portion radical and illogical ways of treating others?
I don't tolerate people who behead others if they don't agree with their religion
I don't agree with the repressive governments that control everyone and stone them for minor misdemeanors
There are good men out there fighting this evil that has plagued their homelands
I'm all for ending terrorism of all kinds
But let's stop terrorism of innocents too
Sure, i'm afraid of what the radicals will do to their own people, my people and the rest of the world
But i'll be dammed if i treated somebody from the Middle East like a monster when i don't even know who they are
If it wasn't for a Middle Eastern girl
The Syrians girls wouldn't have an improved education
If it wasn't for a Middle Eastern man fending off the Taliban and risking his entire village to keep Marcus Littrell alive
He would of been KIA a long time ago.
What about the ones who fought and died for America?
Nobody ever mentions them
The media wants me to hate them all, but i laugh and shake my head
Warped minds trying to warp others
I only see the ones who want to do us harm, and the ones who want to live peacefully and away from a life of hell
Brothers and sisters, just a different culture and skin color
I'm sorry if America seems racist or hateful, but i'm proud to be the one who throws those two words in the trash
Because i'm not afraid to speak my mind
And i welcome everyone here
America is everyone's home.
If only the Soviet Union never invaded Afghanistan
If only the people were not scared
To be free like America.
Unity for all,
Religious differences and Cultures alike.
I hope one day a Muslim man or Woman can walk down an American street without being labeled as a terrorist.
I hope one day these repressive governments fall into the hands of democracy
And we start the Age of Unity again.
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 4:23 PM UTC
My sisters have witchy feet.
Their words, not mine.
If someone else puts them down
I firmly draw the line.
When they are laughing,
Just because they are together,
The joy I hear from them
Seems to change the weather.
It might be chilly or gray
But today the clouds evaporate.
Inside it’s all warm and cozy,
And I do not exaggerate.
They manage to find something
That they can all laugh about
Even when that laughter rises
To the level of three sided shouts.
It usually starts when one dances
And turns it into a wiggle.
Then all three of them break out
In wild, uncontrollable giggles.
Or a memory will get triggered
Of something outrageous
And the laughter takes over.
It is immediately contagious.
I am always rewarded by this
Circus of the instantly absurd
That turns into the best of all
Sounds I have ever heard.
May I wish all of you have
What has happened to me;
To have such close members
Of our often silly family.
Jan 15, 2017
Jan 15, 2017 at 9:05 PM UTC