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Francie Lynch Apr 2015
If you should hear me
Say Ave,
Don't presume
You hear me pray;
It's just one way
For me to say,
How 're you?

If you should hear me
Say Shalom,
Don't assume
You heard a Jew,
I'm only offering
Peace to you.

If you should hear
Namaste,
Don't be amused,
I'm not Hindu,
I bow to the good
I see
in you.

Then again I say
Waz sup,
You don't think
I'm  Gangsta,
You know I mean to say
Les hang togetha.

Does it really matter
What you heard;
The silent or the spoken word.
Words spoken in brevity
Are heard with sincerity;
But there's none more true,
Than
I Love You.
I’ve grown tired of this suit.
I don't like wearing it anymore.
It’s not what it once was.
It’s a constant burden to me.
It’s discolored, faded, and worn thin, especially around the knees.  
It’s marred with tears and stains.
It embarrasses me.
It itches.
It’s suffocating.
It’s downright ugly.
I no longer feel comfortable in it. I haven’t for decades.
I’ve taken it to the best cleaners, the best tailors that money can buy, but it's still a tattered mess beyond repair.
People say I look good in it, that it’s me, it's who I am,  don’t be so self conscious.
But what do they know?
They're not the ones who wear it all the time. I fucking do, goddamn it.
Maybe there’s some hidden truth in all of this that I’ve been bypassing all along?
I don’t have the patience and tolerance to keep wearing it.
The long-avoided decision to rid myself of my suit finally catches up with me.
I’m not timid, not scared, not anxious - just relieved. Excited. Ready to undress.
There’s a fresh, clean robe waiting for me, hanging from the mantle at the bottom of the stairs.
I prepare myself for facing the uncertainty.
So, here I go.
I undress.
It takes a matter of seconds before I rid myself of the suit.
I stand naked, towering over the folded mess.  
I think to myself, that wasn’t so bad after all…
Just like anything in life, it’s the anticipation that cripples us.  Remember that.
I lower my head and stare only for a few moments at my dirty, mangy suit.
Nothing at all, no remorse, no guilt – only liberation.  I receive the peace that has softly spoken to me in my dreams, through music, by feeding ducks and listening to the early morning birds.  They usually have the first thing to say, and it’s the most beautiful message one will ever hear.    
I place my robe over my naked body and start walking up the worn, creaky stairs.
Distant laughter and muffled conversations travel down to me as I climb higher towards the thick, ornate door.
The voices are familiar.  
I push open the door, welcomed by the faces that have been gone for far too long.
Okay
So
Let's delve deep into the human psyche
Ya know
Really get a feel for it
Because maybe somewhere in that vast unexplored frontier we'll find an answer

Because maybe I'm messed up and I have scars because of an unconscious retribution
Maybe my dad's alcoholism was a gift of unholy origins
Maybe my mom will stop crying at night

Protect the kids
They can't hear the pain if they're asleep

Somewhere in our cosmos there has to be an answer
Of why when Jack met Jill they didn't get a happy ever after

I'm still waiting for test results of the taboo
And I hear people say it's my fault
Then it's not my fault
Then it's okay
Then it's not that bad anyway

I hate it when you wear the skimpiest clothes you can find
For body positivity
Part of loving yourself
Is respecting yourself

Let's cycle back around
I'm talking my perspective
I'm just writing this poem so I can forget about what happened

So I'm sorry it meanders

Because sometimes wanderers are lost
And I don't think I'm ever gonna be found
It was a good thought, Dear Evan Hansen
But I can't even find windows to look through

I lost my shot
Middle of the night
And all I can do is hate
Hate myself

They all think I've got a chance
It's nice people believe in me
I just wish they could also see me

I erased a few lines in here
Just in case you're reading
I don't think you are
But you were my best friend for years
I know I wasn't yours

I don't want everyone to know the darkness that creeps inside of me sometimes
It scares me

Let's take a rocket ship to understanding and relearn tolerance

Love ya hon.

I know you don't love me.
A Rivers Aug 31
People refusing to let go of imperial dreams
Allowing laws to follow draconian themes
Posh toffs front modest behaviour while consorting with models in brothels
Squatters reck hovels on streets lined with chip cones and empty booze bottles
Tribal influences come from across the water and is fuelled by reporters
Forming fissures between mothers and daughters to leave our communities smaller and smaller
Framed in the forties as resiliant civilians of a dominion that saved millions
Yet we haven't died the hero so have we lived long enough to become the villain?

Regional differences exist with no damage to unity
Friendly jips and jibes create dialogues of behaving co-operativley
As much as they want you to believe this is a land of strife where your as likely to meet a greeting as a knife
Tolerance is rife and social progress is the direction in which we all try to strive

Oh and the West country is the best place in the world and London can lick lick lick my balls
When you think you’re tolerant;
Showering acceptance
In your grandiose way,
As magnanimous as a monarch
In a carriage
Bestowing the royal wave
Upon the adoring

When you think you’re mindful;
Enjoying tranquility
In your satisfied way,
As peaceful as a monk
on a mountaintop
Watching the tsunami
engulf the adoring

When you think you’re kind;
Gifting your wisdom
In your measured way,
As confident as a healer
Laying hands
To heal the adoring

And then in a moment
you suddenly see
With the clarity of a hunting hawk
Or the sharpness of a surgical scalpel
That your tolerance is expectation
That your mindfulness is facade
That your kindness is self-serving—
All for the adoration.

And it is in that terrible moment
Of great honesty
That you slip from the edges
Of the vessel you thought you knew
And the great unmolding
Begins
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