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Amber Nov 2018
I hate him
I hate him
And you know what else....
I hate him!

I waited
I was patient
I was there everytime he called
I made him laugh after not wanting to
I made him comfortable after the wreck
I opened myself up to him
I let him treat me as if we were in love
I told him my feelings had surpassed
I waited
I gave him space
I tried

He lied
He changed his mind
He found something "better"
He droped me flat on my face
After I was on a cloud of enjoyment
And now he cries to me

He comes back when things are wrong
He talks to me when he is stressed
He jokes about seeing me soon

But he's still not mine
I am forgotten and unwanted
I am alone
While he thrives with her
After I put in the work
He still choose her

And I will always be pushed away
I will still be in pain
I will still crave him
I will still be alone
J J Oct 2019
Death's flowing scroll
Aweing as you misstep,falling
In a loop which,once surpassed,
Is encompassed with laughter.
Glaring down,screaming.
You both scream in unison,so bitter
It causes the trees in the glen
To bend and whimper—

Flickering back in time for a moment:
Snakebones traced from inside the walls
Slithering malady for countless centuries;
Shedding it's calloused flakes from time to time...
What is that which the starshine overhead emulates?
Is it whiteblood or mere rain? lo,mere dust
Thrown throughout the black sky.

Death guides you to the brim of the cliff.
He is uniformed in your old clothes,brandishing eery whispers
  By the flick of his tongue. 'Scream now
And you will scream for an eternity.'
Might delete soon but nonetheless. Inspired by two very underrated creative geniuses of the 20th century
Lyn Ward paid his due in influencing the graphic novel with his wordless novels -specifically, Gods' Man, which's ending this scene is based on-
And George Macbeth might be the best Scottish poet and one of the best experimental poets of the 20th century. He was fairly popular in his time but for whatever reason has fallen into obscurity as of late.
Karma was child from a humble family whose dream had a spoonful of wishes. She never thought of a hen sitting on her plate for lunch until her body shaped to capture the focus of the community.
Her and hard work were inseparable, and motivation sparked from her deeds. This was short lived by blindfolds of moments.  She then landed in a ditch of blessings which surpassed her baring as paper made solutions to all her faults and soonest laziness took her for a companion.
Yes, she had completely forgotten her path neither could she trace her background, for looks bought her a ticket to a lifestyle and rather failed to resist becoming stingy.
She learnt not the meaning of love for it carried no sense, and the she needed not to learn of true love, oh how could she for to her it was a monster that stole opportunities.
The caterpillar she was grew into a butterfly one seen by many and so touched by those whose hands could afford the beautiful colours of its petals. Souls fell apart over the turned beauty of the wings that went toxic. The meal that went bad before the harvest of a promised yield.
The love to taste of the night shinning sun evolved many to empty pockets and others to bundles of regret to disease and misfortune. It wasn’t her making nor desire, it was the glory of Gods carvings that alerted those near and far to come eco and share of visibility of a living being stationed as nature.
This beauty scorched mens eyes day in and day out as she melted souls and flowers faded in the sun. she glowed on gentle pockets, never invested any seeds for a tomorrow. Time wasn’t her ally, it brought a change in season as the clouds ushered in rain sprouted new and better yields that out competed the market of the former.
Clouds shrinked and a dark tomorrow was born, the wine tasted more bitter than old wine in a new bottle. Then the veterans got and adopted new medals at the cost of the old fades of the butterfly contests.
What was left was a story tale with a bunch of little and innocent ferries whose direction was unfolded but hope set from a single ray through the thickest forest.

Thomas Bron Mukama
#herdsmanofprogress
Yvonne Nice Apr 2019
I used to soar high in the sky
The blue jays and ravens jealous of me
"Follow me," I bellowed into the air "follow me and you shall never see despair!"
Most came, some went, and to those who were not fond of my kind
How untasteful and foolish I looked to those dull eyes
But as time came, and time went
While I soared mighty high in a distracted haze they started to fly ahead
They played their playful games, tweeting and trilling as they went
But by the time I realized it, they were nothing but specs ahead
"Wait for me," I cried "don’t you remember that i'm your leader?"
"Sure you are," said a wise old dove that rocketed by and straight ahead
"You may have been able to help them with their troubles and keep them flying straight," he cooed to me
"But look at yourself and ask yourself 'what about me'?"
My tired wings and aching joints screaming as I worked to match his speed
"They've all surpassed you," he called as he cocked his head, "now no one minds you much for you're all spent"
He them dashed off with the other birds, singing as he went
And there I was all alone, how hopeless could I get?
A single bird, without a flock, how shameful can I be?
Well, I guess they'll do better off without me
I slow my wings and gently glide
There’s no rush now that i've been left behind
How was I so foolish, just as the dull eyes thought so
I thought I was a boulder, but I was merely a stepping stone
Her call used to be as powerful as a lion, but is now only as meek as a mouse.
Alex McQuate Aug 2018
My mind roams up and out,
As my body heads east,
Bearing witness to both great and terrible accounts,
Riding on the banks of a river of fog,
Greying out of the physical world near complete.

Islands of treetops,
I pass by,
As tales of grandeur are told,
Great adventures and terrible fates whispered in my ear,
As fear begins to take hold.

As sullen worlds of lone clouds are surpassed,
Moving ever closer to the goal,
Satellites of radio towers hover below,
Broadcasting radiowaves to those who travel the ether,
Guiding them through the fog and the sorrow.
J Walt Sep 2018
Change in my pocket,
but no charge in the socket.
That’s where I use to be.
                                              Heavily
       ­                                                       lost
in a world that wasn’t mine.
Committing sin and crime,
more than this poems rhyme.
Never did I wish to be
                                        minus 6 feet in pine.
At least,
          that’s the lie I’ll stick by.
Hurt every morning. Every night I then cry.
                                                            ­                     Yet,
back at it again in the AM.
Liquor was certainly quicker and I never
                                                           ­   lost
                                                         ­     my
                                                         ­     buzz,
but thank Godness it was,
because much longer and I would’ve lost my cause.
It was more than shaking paws.
I
was
a
slave.
          And, alcohol was my master.
Physically, I always drank faster.
Mentally, there was too much cluster
                     of
self-pity and self-inflicted misery.

Spiritually………………………………….sick.
I far surpassed being a ****.
Pushed away even the biggest *****.
Sure.
Funny now,
                       but then. No then.
                                                        On the binge, waking up smelling
                                                        of Monarch in the park.
                                  Just the thought makes me cringe.
I
            Never
                        Hit
        ­                                   bottom.
                                                     I went through it.
You name it, I’ve done it.
                                Peed my pants in a jail pit.
                                                     Sick.
                                Struck my bestfriend with my mit.
                                                      Sick.
­                                Cheated, lied, and stole way more than a little bit.
                                                      Sick.
­                                Treated girls by the ease of their ****.
                                                       Sick.
Yet.
Yet..
Yet…
Not once, did I think to quit.
Nor, did I think I was fit
                                            to be a respectable man.
But, this life? This current life, was not my plan.
                        This. This is someone else’s hand.
                        This is metanoia.
                                                       ­      With it,
                                                                ­       no more paranoia.
No longer am I better or worse than.
Today, I just am.
I have a god I understand.
I’ve made amends to the fam.
I’ve seen my brother’s band.
I don’t isolate like a clam.
I’ve passed my graduate exam.
I fall asleep without spinning like a fan.
And, this story,
                             I promise
                                         is no scam.

♫♪I believe in miracles♫♪,
                    because,
              I’m a **** thing.
A girl even accepted my ring,
And I’ll admit,
I’m not perfect.
And as you heard,
I can’t sing.
But today,
I do the next right thing.
           I
           try
           to help others
                                   learn to be brothers,
                                              respect people of all colors,
                                                        ­  and to tolerate (yes! tolerate)
                                                       ­                              even their mothers.
My life is second to none, I finally found fun, and by grace
hopefully, I’m not done.
My acceptance is high and my expectations low.
Today, I even try not to steal the show.
But,
        with this flow
I think I’ve found my cause
and that’s
to hear your applause.
J Walt
I prefer this poem as spoken word, it truly captures my story here. For those interested Metanoia is an ancient Greek word meaning "changing one's mind" and is often define as change in one's way of life resulting from penitence or spiritual conversion or a transformative change of heart; especially a spiritual conversion.
TheMystiqueTrail Sep 2018
The spider on the wall,
in the web of a fantasy,
spinning dreams of guile.
Spider is the black hole of my solar system –
a monstrous mass ready to warp me
in its delusion.

Light surpassed
darkened thoughts of deceit
like a flitting meteor.
On its many unseen wings
it sails faster than the meteor.

Light crashed into the spider
dozing in the web of hallucination.
Its barbed hairy legs
singed in the boiling bubble of light.

The light’s swift hands
pulled me out of the black hole,
diffused in me
it's springs of glory.
I became light’s soulmate
to birth more lights
to tame the black holes
of my solar system.

— The End —