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"uncoordinated" poems
Radness The Philosopher’s Stone is not just a spiritual metaphor but an actual substance that can transmute lead or mercury into gold. The Stone is a product of Alchemy. Unlike chemistry, which only deals with physical matter and energy, Alchemy makes use of etheric and astral energies to reconfigure matter at the quantum level. Alchemy is to chemistry what a cube is to the square; it is a superset of chemistry and is capable of so much more. How Etheric Energy Overrides Physical Laws Alchemical achievements require successfully gathering, concentrating, and multiplying etheric energy. When this energy reaches a critical threshold, it overpowers the normal laws of physics and allows seemingly miraculous processes to take place. I believe it does this by biasing probability. By amplifying the probability of minor quantum effects, which are normally limited to the subatomic scale, they manifest on the larger atomic scale. In this way, one element spontaneously transforms into another. The world around us is made of subatomic particles that regularly undergo unpredictable jumps, teleportation, bilocation, superposition, and other strange quantum behaviors. Why don’t everyday solid objects do likewise? Because the random quantum jittering of their subatomic particles collectively average out to zero. Think of a large crowd of people; seen from the air, the crowd as a whole is stationary, even though individuals within the crowd move in seemingly random directions. It’s because their movements are random and uncoordinated that they average to zero net movement on the whole. The world we see around us is merely a crowd of subatomic particles whose individual quantum jumps aren’t apparent because they average to collective stillness. Physical laws that govern our everyday world, known as the deterministic laws of classical physics, are merely the laws of the crowd. These laws are what’s left of quantum physics after the unpredictability is removed through statistical averaging. They are not absolute laws; they are just the most probable manner in which matter and energy behave. Physical laws can be bent. While the probability is incredibly low that enough coordination and coherence develops among the quantum jitters to manifest on a collective scale, that is exactly what etheric energy does. It alters probability and thereby skews the laws of thermodynamics, gravity, electromagnetism, and chemistry. Alchemy does not violate the laws of physics, nor does it always follow them, rather it bends them as needed. It operates upon the quantum foundation from which these laws arise in the first place, via etheric energy affecting the probability of quantum events.
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May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 8:59 PM UTC
Alchemy
Radness The Philosopher’s Stone is not just a spiritual metaphor but an actual substance that can transmute lead or mercury into gold. The Stone is a product of Alchemy. Unlike chemistry, which only deals with physical matter and energy, Alchemy makes use of etheric and astral energies to reconfigure matter at the quantum level. Alchemy is to chemistry what a cube is to the square; it is a superset of chemistry and is capable of so much more. How Etheric Energy Overrides Physical Laws Alchemical achievements require successfully gathering, concentrating, and multiplying etheric energy. When this energy reaches a critical threshold, it overpowers the normal laws of physics and allows seemingly miraculous processes to take place. I believe it does this by biasing probability. By amplifying the probability of minor quantum effects, which are normally limited to the subatomic scale, they manifest on the larger atomic scale. In this way, one element spontaneously transforms into another. The world around us is made of subatomic particles that regularly undergo unpredictable jumps, teleportation, bilocation, superposition, and other strange quantum behaviors. Why don’t everyday solid objects do likewise? Because the random quantum jittering of their subatomic particles collectively average out to zero. Think of a large crowd of people; seen from the air, the crowd as a whole is stationary, even though individuals within the crowd move in seemingly random directions. It’s because their movements are random and uncoordinated that they average to zero net movement on the whole. The world we see around us is merely a crowd of subatomic particles whose individual quantum jumps aren’t apparent because they average to collective stillness. Physical laws that govern our everyday world, known as the deterministic laws of classical physics, are merely the laws of the crowd. These laws are what’s left of quantum physics after the unpredictability is removed through statistical averaging. They are not absolute laws; they are just the most probable manner in which matter and energy behave. Physical laws can be bent. While the probability is incredibly low that enough coordination and coherence develops among the quantum jitters to manifest on a collective scale, that is exactly what etheric energy does. It alters probability and thereby skews the laws of thermodynamics, gravity, electromagnetism, and chemistry. Alchemy does not violate the laws of physics, nor does it always follow them, rather it bends them as needed. It operates upon the quantum foundation from which these laws arise in the first place, via etheric energy affecting the probability of quantum events.
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escapism the tendency to seek distraction and relief from unpleasant realities, especially by seeking entertainment or engaging in fantasy. Hello I'm just a un pretty face in an ugly place I can pretend with the best of them I love to paint pictures that make no sense except inside my head. on canvas? they are just literally uncoordinated twitchiness a need to put colour back into a world of Black and White I like to write stories the antagonist being just someone who lost, the heroine fleeing from a simple world so complicated *it's hard to cast two beings that are so ill fated* and so the story goes That poetry saved me I can't tell it for truth It makes a difference I suppose But honestly? I wake at the crack of dawn I yell at the dog for barking I take a minute for myself Then wake the kids it's starting Getting ready for  another day is like petting a lion begging food as a stray I collect the mail sort the bills pretend that money is an option, not a price then sell myself to another for a day so nice Feed, clean, wash make sure no one is missed How was your day dear? Well, it's like this as they wander away to their own adventures and I'm left to my own devices eventually To paint a picture Write a book Or expel my life's pleasures into poetry and all I really hear is What do you mean, is that about me? Umm no, it's about me... And tomorrow I'll wake up to do it all again Hello I'm Helen
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Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 4:32 AM UTC
let me introduce myself
I cannot pinpoint the exact moment that it happened. That monumental moment when I completely and totally allowed myself to fall for you. I fell hard, uncoordinated and bruised I crash landed into your arms and sank into the clouds of your love. It was too much to absorb at once so I let some of it just float around me hoping I could save this love and let it thrive upon itself so that maybe just this once it would last.
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May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 3:17 PM UTC
Starfish
A tired hug early in the morning, drowsy and uncoordinated, but starts the day nicely. Like a cup of tea, mellow and lovely. A wet hug, filled with tears, tears, and more tears. A comforting embrace that no one wants to let go of or experience again. A happy hug, one that happens out of joy for something or another. Like a lemon drop, sweet and filled with innocent happiness. A desperate hug, the kind when the world is falling apart and the only thing you have is each other. Arms wrapped tightly, a hug in circumstances no one wants. A hug that isn't desperate, but still needed. Those that you never want to leave, that say the words you can't. The ones you hold on to, that you bury your head into. A goodbye hug. The worst kind. Filled with regrets, words never said. As agonizing as they are, there is no worse thing than not being able to give one.
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Feb 9, 2018
Feb 9, 2018 at 10:10 PM UTC
Hugs
Gentle soft uncoordinated lips Through all seasons You call upon me To be kind sweet and mean When I am gone Will you still call for me Or will you share all of you To someone new And call on her
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May 31, 2023
May 31, 2023 at 7:35 PM UTC
Will you?
"Sit down boy, you're tired and you must sleep" The voice said to me as I walked the city street Fuzzy steps taken to a bench I saw over yonder Sleepily wandering, the streetlights I ponder Passive disorientation, I'm lost it would seem Consciousness becomes a trickle, as opposed to a stream Dragging myself over shards of glass, paralysed and sleeping A shadow 'neath the moonlight seems to be steadily creeping Isolated in this park in the darkness on a sigma plateau Dextromethorphan hallucinations are a spectacular show I'm indifferent to the stranger, drowsy as he appears Isolated in the nighttime winds, apathetic to his tears Uncoordinated my head falling he takes a seat softly Dissociative disorder makes me seem awfully frosty Speaking of lands where the populace truly is free Speaking unintelligible words, indirectly to me The intrinsic disconnect of this generation scorned As the sun rises in the sky, glittered clouds adorned My head lulls lackadaisically, I'm feeling unwell But my stomach is eased when I think of sweet Maybelle [Hers is a Nabokovian tale of passion in proto-dystopian wastelands The first time we kissed, I held her soft head tenderly in my hands The serenade of rain pitter-patter on the ground, like her feet when she's near and hearing her name is as cathartic as those old jazz records I hold so dear But, oh my pretty Belle, your age is a concern to me (and the eyes of the law) So to forget your sweet face, I pop pills neglectfully, passing out on the floor] Lifting head slowly from the rough ground dampened Four years passed and I'm wondering what happened Fuzzy headed blues, clear my mind with OJ and ****** Walking fast to her house, cannot wait to see her A rap-tap on the door with thoughts of romantic enumerations What she said and what I saw defied every one of my expectations My innocent Belle, with her cheeks rosy red, looks me in the eyes, and wishes I was dead
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Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 7:08 AM UTC
Peter Sotos' Number One Hit Machine
"Sit down boy, you're tired and you must sleep" The voice said to me as I walked the city street Fuzzy steps taken to a bench I saw over yonder Sleepily wandering, the streetlights I ponder Passive disorientation, I'm lost it would seem Consciousness becomes a trickle, as opposed to a stream Dragging myself over shards of glass, paralysed and sleeping A shadow 'neath the moonlight seems to be steadily creeping Isolated in this park in the darkness on a sigma plateau Dextromethorphan hallucinations are a spectacular show I'm indifferent to the stranger, drowsy as he appears Isolated in the nighttime winds, apathetic to his tears Uncoordinated my head falling he takes a seat softly Dissociative disorder makes me seem awfully frosty Speaking of lands where the populace truly is free Speaking unintelligible words, indirectly to me The intrinsic disconnect of this generation scorned As the sun rises in the sky, glittered clouds adorned My head lulls lackadaisically, I'm feeling unwell But my stomach is eased when I think of sweet Maybelle [Hers is a Nabokovian tale of passion in proto-dystopian wastelands The first time we kissed, I held her soft head tenderly in my hands The serenade of rain pitter-patter on the ground, like her feet when she's near and hearing her name is as cathartic as those old jazz records I hold so dear But, oh my pretty Belle, your age is a concern to me (and the eyes of the law) So to forget your sweet face, I pop pills neglectfully, passing out on the floor] Lifting head slowly from the rough ground dampened Four years passed and I'm wondering what happened Fuzzy headed blues, clear my mind with OJ and ****** Walking fast to her house, cannot wait to see her A rap-tap on the door with thoughts of romantic enumerations What she said and what I saw defied every one of my expectations My innocent Belle, with her cheeks rosy red, looks me in the eyes, and wishes I was dead
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I want to love someone as deeply as I love you Moreso deeply if it helped me forget you To forget the touch of your skin Or your uncoordinated lips Your white car That made you work harder to get it up a hill I want to forget you To forget the first time we met The way your hand and smile Fit with mine When I first laughed and smiled Happily like a child No I must forget you I have to Because forgetting you means we can both be happy And I want to forget you I don't know exactly when I fell head over heels for you And you made me so happy I guess you still do Maybe I don't want to love someone else Or moreso deeply to forget you The truth is You haven't left my mind since And I could never forget you
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Apr 30, 2021
Apr 30, 2021 at 2:02 AM UTC
To Forget You
God made me loving So I would love everyone God made me broken So I could make sure I never break someone else God made me hurt So I could heal others God made me anxious So I could learn to trust God made me motherly For those who don't have one God made me uncoordinated So I would know that balance Is not always physical God made me compassionate So I would know his love for us God made me faithful So I would know what it's like to be betrayed God made me insecure So I could tell others that no one is perfect God made me human Flawed Broken Anxious And uncoordinated that I am So He could prove to me That He is stronger than my ups And Downs.
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Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 9:49 AM UTC
God Made Me...
i may be jump starting into a fast play here but this ain't no ordinary game i’m playing, i ain't got no geechee tricks up my sleeves or a curve ball in sight, with you it’s just me and my straight pitch so imma throw it to ya like this i’ve been traveling across the court waiting for you to be wide open for me to free throw this to you i love you man did you see that pass? that shot i made all the way from half court? you gonna catch it & come over here slam dunk it like i want you to or let these words rebound off your chest like a third rate player with uncoordinated hands? cause right now its the third down in the last quarter baby & you still don’t see how much yardage you have gained & I'm still waiting for you to intercept me dontcha know, i wanna do more than just sack you? but don’t get it twisted this isn’t some obsessed lovesick fan aching & destined to show up at your door like a groupie unannounced cause i’m not about to chase you this ain’t track & i don’t run after nothing that can’t catch up to me first but **** don’t you know i’ve got words for you papi like goaaaalllll & oyeeee i might let you play in my centerfield but only if you can come kick it hard enough i wanna know how do you wanna play this game?
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Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 11:08 PM UTC
game changer
the night flies on stumbling butterfly wings and our staggering conversation half-lost in translation and uncoordinated scribbling still glows in my foggy mind you’re gorgeous when my eyes are closed enough to see the beauty in everyone you’re gorgeous when your sunshined hair sticks up when your inner poet is allowed out to play when you can spin sentences like silk, to warm my cheeks with unwarranted compliments based on little evidence our loose lips sink shots, spill sorrow we feel better for it upon sharing, we find a sense of belonging there’s nothing which forms a stronger bond than human suffering we are gorgeous if only for the glory of being human and for being strong enough to share the pain within for being someone to share a friday night with in deep discussion i thank you you can thank me later for bringing you the ***** and next time i’ll bring poetry too
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Dec 10, 2012
Dec 10, 2012 at 12:45 AM UTC
i wanna be sedated
Growing up, I thought I was special. I thought I could do anything. Go anywhere. Be anyone. I thought I was smart. More clever than most. I thought I was likable, cool, and popular. I thought I was pretty. Growing up, I thought the world of myself, but as I grew older, I found that the world didn't think much of me. I realized I was ordinary, and there were limits on my abilities. I realized that I was clumsy, uncoordinated, and awkward. I found that I am an average student. Honestly, I'm really not smart at all. I became aware of my quirky and weird personality, and that most people really don't like me. I understood that I was just one of many in a great big world, and that I am insignificant. Maybe growing up is realizing that you are not that special, after all.
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Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 3:17 AM UTC
Growing Up and Insignificant
God made me loving So I would love everyone God made me broken So I could make sure I never break someone else God made me hurt So I could heal others God made me anxious So I could learn to trust God made me motherly For those who don't have one God made me uncoordinated So I would know that balance Is not always physical God made me compassionate So I would know his love for us God made me faithful So I would know what it's like to be betrayed God made me insecure So I could tell others that no one is perfect God made me human Flawed Broken Anxious And uncoordinated that I am So He could prove to me That He is stronger than my ups And Downs.
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Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 1:37 PM UTC
God Made Me...
I'll softly sip my grape soda Accompanied by a Smirnoff friend I will let the fire trickle down my esophagus Maybe tonight I'll mend bonds I've broken Numbly message each old lover With uncoordinated hands And explain my sudden yearning Where my feelings might still try to stand Or maybe I will cut myself up tonight From my shoulders to my toes Let all the stress spill out All my anxiety and all my woes Kinda feel like dancing tonight Just alone in my room with the lights out Of course mentioning I'm alone Is nearly pointless, there should be no doubt I might do a lot of things Maybe is a strong word All I know is right now Being sober is absurd
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Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 10:15 PM UTC
Smirnoff Grape Soda
Please read the notes first. Tally time, conclusion forming, "Some day," grown nearer. Tree's longest branch, Coming to reach, reaching to come. Soon to beat and plead upon Cottage window and door. Rooted whisperer, jealous reminder, Revered warning, timely sounding, Your time of Reckless Choice arriving Destination's unnamed coordinates, uncoordinated, Journey from wherefrom to wherever, unrecorded, Observed by silenced overlording sky, Testimony of the seeing voiceless clouds, All nought and to no avail, destination head-shaking, These white witnesses, Muted, deaf, dumbfounded, Knowing, yet  incapable of telling State of sated steady staid, Sundered by sharp silent sounds, Reckless surpasses Riskless, Life is a recitation, an enunciation When my less to say is soon none, My Reckless Choice, now chosen, Unforced but enforced, I shall be gone
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Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 6:55 AM UTC
The Reckless Choice
Woke up with children in my mind, wrote two new, then stumbled on this... I give this poem to an orchestra leader I know, who understands better than most, that conducting and being surrounded by many, is oft the loneliest task and who knows best the meaning of "finally, all synchronized in time and space, on a single continuum, within, without and through." Thanksgiving Day 2011 Through the picture window, watching restless generations, multitudinous compilations, children's backyard runnings, all about, hide n' seek, uncoordinated coordination, well calculated randomness, perfection in its discombobulation Within my bloodstream, chemical changes, blow thru my veins, direction home, like leaves, on a November weekend, windswept from a thousand directions, endless energy, noise, and commotion, results of internal tremblings, the side effects of satisfactions, in ways I could only dream of... Without knowing, nonetheless, the knowledge rests within, footage of future days of quietude and satisfaction, recalling earlier simplicities, records recorded somehow before it happens, records recorded now and then, but only for future consumption. Harmonies of times, well deserved, to be future spent, now, finally, all synchronized in time and space, on a single continuum, within, without and through. They say that Einstein erred, time cannot outrace gravity, therefore it cannot be that I have seen the future. Yet, I know with unerring certainty, these truths posses the gravity, that thanks, I have and will again, gave, and will give The remainders, the children, the net of our gains and losses, within them,         my thanks lives, without them,         I am lessened, through them,         I am whole,
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Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 7:04 AM UTC
Within, Without, and Through the Picture Window (A Thanksgiving Prayer)
Woke up with children in my mind, wrote two new, then stumbled on this... I give this poem to an orchestra leader I know, who understands better than most, that conducting and being surrounded by many, is oft the loneliest task and who knows best the meaning of "finally, all synchronized in time and space, on a single continuum, within, without and through." Thanksgiving Day 2011 Through the picture window, watching restless generations, multitudinous compilations, children's backyard runnings, all about, hide n' seek, uncoordinated coordination, well calculated randomness, perfection in its discombobulation Within my bloodstream, chemical changes, blow thru my veins, direction home, like leaves, on a November weekend, windswept from a thousand directions, endless energy, noise, and commotion, results of internal tremblings, the side effects of satisfactions, in ways I could only dream of... Without knowing, nonetheless, the knowledge rests within, footage of future days of quietude and satisfaction, recalling earlier simplicities, records recorded somehow before it happens, records recorded now and then, but only for future consumption. Harmonies of times, well deserved, to be future spent, now, finally, all synchronized in time and space, on a single continuum, within, without and through. They say that Einstein erred, time cannot outrace gravity, therefore it cannot be that I have seen the future. Yet, I know with unerring certainty, these truths posses the gravity, that thanks, I have and will again, gave, and will give The remainders, the children, the net of our gains and losses, within them,         my thanks lives, without them,         I am lessened, through them,         I am whole,
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She had never said it first, and it is doubtful she ever will. Maybe it was the first disappointment... She danced with her Dad, a four year old toe head standing on top of his feet, uncoordinated, hanging on for dear life! A simple, child's mind could never comprehend why little a  girl could not marry her Daddy. Maybe it was The First. He never said it, neither did she. They were never in love, nor did they pretend to be. Maybe it was The Taker, The Worker, or The Money Maker, on a cold Christmas or a snowy New Year's Eve. Maybe it was pieces, parts of all of these. Each one who came, soon went, another brick in her tower of solitude. A fortress built, no man could penetrate. You could have her, sure... But you could never have her. You could take her out for seafood and wine, and hold her hair back when she puked. You could take her to a Cubs game, hot dogs, beer, and Harry Caray in the seventh inning stretch... But still, you could never have her. In the morning, you, or you, or you had to go. You, or you, or you could never get too close. All the while she was waiting, watching and waiting... Riding time, longing for, and craving the one to  bring the fire, the one who could wrap her in his flame.
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Jul 20, 2019
Jul 20, 2019 at 9:30 PM UTC
The 'L' Word
So I would like to take a rest. Because my hands are swollen from writing your name over and over and over again. Because my eyes forgot how to blink whenever I see you buy coffee in that cafe along 7th street. Because my ears only hear your deep voice and triggers the fault lines in my body waiting to attack like an earthquake and cause major damages including butterflies, no, dinosaurs in my stomach. Because my nose hallucinates your smell. Because my lips long to call you all day, all night, every hour of my life. My senses go crazy and becomes uncoordinated. My knees go weaker and I can't move but still smile like an idiot at the thought of your being. You make my head spin and you make my heart twirl like a circus girl.
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Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 9:00 PM UTC
Circus Girl
you repugnant ******* you keep me wondering just why god created you they say He has a reason for everything. Why he created you I still don't understand. but lately i wonder if you were created just so i could have this day to myself. full of filth, creepy as hell disgusting at the sound of your belly being squashed but for the sake of justice, i sprayed you with my favorite perfume. not because i have a pint of love for you but because every opportunity to end your life should be fully taken advantage of. i watched you die. it was slow. first your legs uncoordinated, you scrambled for the walls but they failed you. they did fail you. then you choked. i could almost hear it you thought of the darkest place to dig your grave. but not on my marble floor i watched you die. i wanted it faster but the sweet smell of the Hugo Boss and the death of a scape goat... a scape roach, was bearable. maybe you deserve a soundtrack or a more befitting burial in a bin but a poem for you is totally undeserving save for my joblessness.
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Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 6:08 AM UTC
you repugnant *******
In my schoolboy bedroom it is a completely different world Brings me in confluence with my shadow The meeting of two merging anticipated tributaries Like cold blue morning and dark sprinkled night Where my mirror has become the ritualised Expression of my isolation of my individual consciousness Fused as one at the edge, where all else becomes blurred An abstraction, indefinably lost like the mixing of shadows That cannot be deduced on any mental map I hear my shadow beckoning me In its uncoordinated marginality In isolation I receive his thoughts, his considered reflections Something has now united us through joint experience a totality An idea a notion conceived, to abrogate the restraint on liberty An erosion of all guilt, advancement to a notion Of profound imagination, where invariably Our congress will be complete there can be no latitude for digression.
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Apr 11, 2012
Apr 11, 2012 at 5:04 PM UTC
Conversations With My Shadow 2
Turning signal lights flashing like uncoordinated fairy lights Beams of street lights conforming to the windscreen of the car Radio static filling your ears like bees in an angry hive Petrol fumes disappearing into the night like clouds High beams temporarily blinding you like the sun does when it wakes up Faces blurred as you pass like birds in fast motion Anonymous. Distant. They do not know me, nor I them.
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Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 6:48 AM UTC
Night
Imma blame you My heart For never stopping At any of those distractions
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Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 9:42 AM UTC
unrehearsed uncoordinated
We meet again, ***** tile. I rest my head against the wall, staring at you as the cold water spurting from the leaky shower head hits my back in violent, uncoordinated patterns. Now begins another session of deep contemplation... what will we explore this time? Why my family insists on being so loud? The recent event on the news, and how utterly ridiculous politicians act? The newest drama from school? What strange "fact" my friend said to me this morning that made me question her internet sources? No. Tonight is a night of tears. They run down my face, leaving hot streaks that come as a shock after the steady drumming of the cold water on my body. Picking up speed, I feel like a shower of my own... why am I so sad? For many months I've asked myself this question. Every day I enter this shower and reveal my true face to you, little tile. This shower is my version of a zen garden... the only place I can truly delve into the emotions I have pushed so far away. But try as I might, I can't keep this mask on forever. More and more tears fall from my contorted face. it's everything. the answer is everything. I am constantly told to be grateful for all I have, to be thankful for the roof over my head and my food and clothes and family... Do they really believe I lack gratitude? That my emotionless face equates to me acting unappreciative? Apparently it is unacceptable for me to show my true face, ***** tile. Evidently I must smile for the crowd, despite what decay is taking hold inside. So I will let these tears silently fall. They are all that keep me real, keep me human; capable of other emotions than an exhausted smile plastered to a weary face. But I haven't long, I must collect myself again. As my head separates from the porcelain surface, I fix my eyes on you, my square friend. What have I become? What   have    I       become?
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Jan 9, 2018
Jan 9, 2018 at 10:02 PM UTC
This Poem is Dedicated to The Wall Tile in my Shower
We meet again, ***** tile. I rest my head against the wall, staring at you as the cold water spurting from the leaky shower head hits my back in violent, uncoordinated patterns. Now begins another session of deep contemplation... what will we explore this time? Why my family insists on being so loud? The recent event on the news, and how utterly ridiculous politicians act? The newest drama from school? What strange "fact" my friend said to me this morning that made me question her internet sources? No. Tonight is a night of tears. They run down my face, leaving hot streaks that come as a shock after the steady drumming of the cold water on my body. Picking up speed, I feel like a shower of my own... why am I so sad? For many months I've asked myself this question. Every day I enter this shower and reveal my true face to you, little tile. This shower is my version of a zen garden... the only place I can truly delve into the emotions I have pushed so far away. But try as I might, I can't keep this mask on forever. More and more tears fall from my contorted face. it's everything. the answer is everything. I am constantly told to be grateful for all I have, to be thankful for the roof over my head and my food and clothes and family... Do they really believe I lack gratitude? That my emotionless face equates to me acting unappreciative? Apparently it is unacceptable for me to show my true face, ***** tile. Evidently I must smile for the crowd, despite what decay is taking hold inside. So I will let these tears silently fall. They are all that keep me real, keep me human; capable of other emotions than an exhausted smile plastered to a weary face. But I haven't long, I must collect myself again. As my head separates from the porcelain surface, I fix my eyes on you, my square friend. What have I become? What   have    I       become?
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