"valued" poems
I don't remember, any more,
The exact shape of your hands
As I held them in mine,
Caressed them,
Memorized the length of your fingers,
The depth of your calluses.
I don't remember, any more,
Exactly your height, how much
Taller than me
You were, where
My head rested on your chest
When you held me tightly close.
I don't remember, any more,
Your scent, when we lay together
Creating our own
Magic rhythm,
Matching our heartbeats as we
Touched the sky, together.
I don't remember, any more,
The sound of your voice, calling
My name as though
It were a song
Within itself, a precious treasure
You valued with all your being.
And I don't remember, any more,
The color of your eyes, the shape
Of your lips,
Only...
How your eyes crinkled at the corners
And your laugh, as you told me,
"I love you."
Feb 9, 2011
Feb 9, 2011 at 5:26 PM UTC
For years my heart was guarded, protected from the world.
But somehow you have disarmed me, opened and unfurled.
You’ve taken me, broken and damaged, mishandled and hurled .
Yet you see me as delicate and dainty, so precious and pearled.
Everything’s not perfect but it sure is beautiful here.
Your smile so bright with a voice I just love to hear.
Your touch, so gentle I just want to have you near.
I love your energy and your presence, you make everyone else disappear.
He has captured my trust and that’s something not easily given.
He has made all my worries forgotten and all of my heartache is forgiven.
His mission was to win my heart and made his goal clear, he was driven.
After plenty of chances to earn my trust, I’d finally decided to give in.
I feel so loved, so valued, so cared for so protected.
He has won me over and I doubt I’ll ever regret it.
To a man who truly cares for me and satisfies my every need.
For you have saved me from my darkness, and my heart you have freed.
Jul 11, 2021
Jul 11, 2021 at 6:27 PM UTC
a man is not a man if he believes he has to be superior over a woman to achieve her love,
a man is a man if he believes in letting a woman decide for herself who she wants to be,
a man is not a man if he believes control will make a woman stay,
a man is a man if he believes letting a woman choose what she wants to do will make her stay,
a man is not a man if he does not believe in giving a woman a choice in her free time, will make her feel safe,
a man is man if he believes that letting a woman do whatever the hell she wants in her free time to make her happy will make her love him more and feel safe,
a man is not a man if he believes that forbidding a woman to meet with other males, even just friends will make her stay,
a man is a man if he trusts a woman, regardless of how long the relationship, that she will not cheat by giving her the choice of who she wants to meet, will make her stay,
a man is not a man if he constantly refers to a woman as only useful in reproduction,
a man is a man if he believes that a woman was created for other things too,
a man is not a man if he believes that a woman should be devoted to the kitchen and household,
a man is a man if he believes that letting a woman choose how she wants to keep herself busy will make her feel valued,
a man is not a man if he believes a woman is only useful for his needs, wants, and desires,
a man is a man if he believes that being with a woman is not only about objectification, sexualization, reproductive control and male privilege.
Nov 16, 2020
Nov 16, 2020 at 1:35 PM UTC
My deadest fiance you give life to me, you are the light in the dark, when I'm near you I'm nothing but happy, happier than I've ever felt with anyone. You are the reason I smile, the reason I get up everyday and say I'm in love, your my most valued friend, your my other half, my best friend, the future mother of my kid(s), but above all your my fiance and I'll always love you, protect you, care for you, love and nuture you til the day we die. I love you so much you're my world, my shining star in the blank clear night sky, my happy place. My dearest your all I think about from the time I wake up, to the time I go to sleep and even in my dreams and if I could I'd do my life over and only have you as my love because you're the only one worthy of it. I live you and I'm glad you're mine and in my life with out you I'd probably be dead.
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 1:33 AM UTC
A rose is a rose,
No matter where it grows.
Some saw thorns,
Beauty some chose.
Criticized by some,
Valued by loads;
People's opinions,
You can't change them by force.
Perfection is desired,
Even if it's freestyle prose!
Our lives might be cumbersome,
Let's accept the challenges they pose;
There's a bit of stardust in us all,
No matter hellish situations might come how close,
because, a rose is a rose.
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 12:45 PM UTC
Her name is Sarah
And between her legs
A flower.
A Begonia
Lush, Desirable, and Sweet
Beautiful.
Her name is Olivia
And between her legs
A flower.
A Bird of Paradise
Exotic & Captivating, Deep
Beautiful.
Her name Tanya
And between her legs
A flower.
A Calla Lilly
Intuitive, Dreamy, Refined
Beautiful.
Her name is Sumi
And between her legs
A flower.
A Dahlia
Grace, Strength, & Valued
Beautiful.
Her name is Diana
And between her legs
A flower.
A Moonflower
Delicate & Feminine
Beautiful.
My name is Hannah
And between my legs
A flower.
An Azalea
Fragile, Sweet, & Tender
Beautiful.
Aug 5, 2016
Aug 5, 2016 at 6:42 AM UTC
they laugh at my use of the word 'feminism'
it makes me different, makes me unique.
a woman asking for a voice is like a child asking for a gun.
they cringe at my use of the word 'feminism'
it means i am angry, means i must be gay.
a woman demanding respect is like a beggar asking for more than you're comfortable giving.
i want to feel safe,
i want to be acknowledged,
i want to be valued,
to be seen as a whole person,
not an object of ****** desire-
a mother,
a wife.
i want to go a day without my validity being questioned,
but i am just a girl,
and that's not how things work.
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 4:26 PM UTC
Self worth. The sense of ones own value or worth as a person. So how much do you have? Shes thinks if I fit in and change the agenda then I'll be much happier then, than with what I already have. If they don't say I'm pretty or the crowds aren't pleased then do I have value? Like I can't be happy with myself but I need to hear it too. My life is more than what I can just make do. They have to tell my worth then it'll be true. If he doesn't tell me my value then is my self worth through. If I'm not cool today, famous tomorrow, then all my efforts right now have been in vein. I had a girl once who told me that she was happier being in a relationship, but every one ended up with no real valuing shift. She said if I just have a guy then I'll be more than just a petty thrift. If I have *** and get wasted, ill be more than a girl in her parents basement. Not realizing her logic to that situation was misled and outdated. There is no question that your uniqueness is the greatest. Don't let the world make your self esteem so prostrated. Because I'll tell you that your worth more than the world and it should bask in your greatness. It was about that time she butted back in and said but I'm wretched and filthy a guy won't love me, will he? And I said that's what's amazing about self worth. As long you keep your head up then it doesn't matter what he thinks your worth. You were intricately made, a masterpiece of work. God made you perfect and righteous so how dare you say your worthless when he says you're priceless. Women are degraded but yet they are the very essence of our being. They are the seed of the earth that holds all its meaning. So don't be demeaning of how valued you are no matter if crowd doesn't find you worth seeing. You know that saying about giving credit, where credit is due? Well if that's true then I think it's about time to give women their rightful credit too. Because your the worlds greatest and wonderful masterpiece made in you.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 2:56 PM UTC
I can’t write this poem
I can’t write this poem because the last time I opened up to someone artistically they told me it was pretty dark and I should keep it to myself.
I can’t write this poem
I can’t write this poem because I was raised in a culture that was anti love and pro meaningless *** I saw endless commercials about movies that glamorize a lifestyle in which your body is fulfilled but your heart is ignored and at that impressionable age I learned my heart came second but my allure came first and the less I cared that happier I would be and I carried that belief around with me the way I used to carry around a Bible as a child.
I can’t write this poem
I can’t write this poem because of the time that I opened my father’s phone to reveal a family secret I would hold to this day against my own moral instincts unraveling miles of insecurities wondering if I’m not a good enough daughter or if he stopped loving my mother or if true love was never real and although I had been taught marriage was my purpose, it was what I believed would make me happy, maybe rings aren’t enough to stay in love and maybe people’s feelings change and maybe no one actually has a “one true love” and that this purpose I had been taught was really an endless wild goose chase that only lead to broken families and lost souls.
I can’t write this poem
I can’t write this poem because sometimes I still wonder why I fell into an abyss of toxicity at such a young age. And when I say wonder I don’t mean a trivial ponder, I mean I contemplate every possible reason why the person who I once believed held the universe in her eyes would lie to my face, why she never kissed me in public and our love was always a secret, why she valued girls with blue hair but my blonde hair was not good enough, why I had to hide bruises from my family when I was still in high school or more importantly, why at the time, I thought I deserved them. These thoughts, this lingering paranoia that I am undeserving of healthy love, they muddy my interpretations of real life and distort reality and effect my relationships. My doctor would call these intrusive thoughts, my best friend would tell me they’re symptoms of PTSD, but I have come to realize that I’ve been burned and I am damaged and I hope to god I can recover.
But you,
Oh god, you
You can write this poem. You can be my safety net while I’m free falling in love. You can be the one to listen to my mental tilt-a-whirls, you can be the one that introduces my body and my heart, you can be the one that calms the storms in my mind when I’m questioning the love I’m deserving of. You are the one who makes sure I fall asleep in my bed after drunk nights, you are the one that still sees my value after acknowledging my flaws.
You can write this poem.
Jun 12, 2017
Jun 12, 2017 at 12:33 AM UTC
I want to live in a world
where I can be proud
of my body
And not fear that I’m a 12, not a 2
and accept myself.
I want to live in a world
where men are valued
on television
And women are not always supreme
in their tiny dresses.
I want to live in a world
where I do not have to fear
for my saftey
And not have to tell a friend I’m going
for a walk.
I want to live in a world
where I can walk home alone
at night
And not have every creak, every thud
set me on edge.
I want to live in a world
where gender equality
is real
And is not split through medial portrayal
and unsafe reality.
May 2, 2012
May 2, 2012 at 12:04 AM UTC
one grain of sand
inside one clam
The clam spends time with this grain of sand
it is nurtured
it is protected
it is valued
it is loved
it is seen as an important part of the clams life
it then becomes a pearl
Why are you so clammed up?
I'm clammed up because I am making a pearl
I am making myself my own pearl
creating my own beauty
Shining my imperfections as if they were weaknesses
I am loving myself
And protecting myself from the toxic environment the world around me can be
I am learning the value of myself
Nurturing myself
The pearl is my own sense of self.
That is my pearl
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 11:17 PM UTC
'They're just a teen' gets dropped on the daily.
Like the added couple of letters at the end
determine whether our feelings are valued
or not.
They only ever tell us they're here for us
when someone offs themselves on the train
tracks next to the school. Call this number
if you feel down.
Teenage years are the time to find out who
you are, and maybe I am a depressed mess,
but us Gen Z kids are doing our best to make
sure us sad'ens feel alright.
Sometimes we don't feel alright, and, so what,
if it is just down to hormones and periods,
and Max's muscly shoulders or Louise's
brown eyes.
We are allowed to feel like **** Cos Teenage
years are the time where we find out life isn't
like animated movies;
that bad guys are defeated and the hero wins;
cos, in the end, sometimes we're our own saboteurs.
And we find out,
sometimes that's okay; to knock ourselves down will
make us build ourselves up in the grand scheme of
things; I sure as hell know I hate how I feel most days,
and I'm sure most teenagers do.
I'm just a teen;
but I have a loud voice, terrible jokes and
a **** economy to grow into,
and I'm allowed to be mad and cry
and I'm allowed to feel like ****
and want to die
because in the end, I know it'll all
be fine.
Married or alone with wine.
Sometimes life is ****
and that's okay;
and to me,
that _is_ the teenage dream.
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 6:06 PM UTC
Joy, Fun, Laughter
Learning, Growing,
Discovering & Creating
Support & Community!
We are women!
We stand together
That all of humanity
May stand up too.
We love
We care for
We cradle
We teach and raise
Generations upon Generations
Each man and each women
Yes we stand up for all of Humanity
May man stand with us too!
For yes, are women!
We want peace.
We want kindness.
We want respect.
We value and want to be valued.
We want all to be free to live.
We want all to be free to love
In Peace.
In Harmony.
In Joy.
Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 2:09 PM UTC
A fashion designer has defended models who were labelled as "gaunt and unwell" on Facebook.
Andrea Moore's I AM range is sold at Farmers, and an image from its current campaign was posted on that company's Facebook page on Friday.
The picture features Chiara and Norina Gasteiger, who are twins represented by Clyne Model Management. Farmers customers did not react well to the now-deleted post.
"They so look gaunt and unwell. I'm really disappointed," Newshub says Anna Webster commented.
"You cannot look at these girls with their bones sticking out and believe that they are a good role model for a family store," Jo Austwick wrote.
"I have enough trouble with body image arguments with my daughters without these images being depicted. They do not look healthy."
Moore said the imagery had never been intended to cause offence, and that she felt for the Gasteiger twins, who have worked with the brand for three years.
"The twins are actually healthy, fun models who are busy university students... We love working with them because of their sense of self-worth and uniqueness as twins," she said.
"We have been in touch with the models and they were most upset by the whole thing. Fortunately, they have received a lot of support from their peers.
"The campaign was about preppy grunge, print with an edge. [It was not] about promoting unhealthy body types [or] anything else," Moore added.
Farmers posted the following statement on Facebook after deleting the I AM image:
"Dear valued Farmers customers! We appreciate you taking the time to send us your comments and concerns on a recent post for I AM. Please know it is not taken lightly and we in no way mean to promote an image for women in NZ to follow that could be regarded as unhealthy.
"We understand that no two bodies are the same and we always seek to show a range of body types throughout all our advertising. These images were supplied by the brand Andrea Moore as part of a wider campaign and were published by us. We will endeavour going forward to work closely with all our partners to ensure an appropriate image is portrayed.
"Thank you once again for your valued feedback."
Clyne Model Management have been approached for comment.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/cocktail-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/one-shoulder-formal-dresses
Sep 5, 2016
Sep 5, 2016 at 10:30 PM UTC
Two fine films: The Lost City and Blood Diamond.
I joined Blood Diamond during a village massacre
and said to my wife A gun in every home.
Those devils would think twice
before razing the village and seizing the boys.
A well-regulated militia.
The local militia the most interesting moment
in a strong film with motive (economic, emotional), action (chases,
fights) and a **** sexless love story.
Use of violence by the local militia for a limited purpose: protect the
community, the young
from the janjaweed. The crop from the ****
Limited scope and defensive posture
but armed and coordinated, cooperative, the men (and the women)
side by side.
Warriors at the gate, you will not run, you will not bargain.
Just violence = limited scope, defensive posture.
Great music. Cuba, Africa.
The Lost City, when the communists tell the club owner under threat
of violence
No saxophones in the band. The saxophone!
Invented by a Belgian--Look what the Belgians are doing in the
Congo!
When the state's violence is turned against the citizenry
for non-violent acts.
This quiet neighborhood, July,
undergirded by violence, force. That's a given--
any farmer, custodian, EMT will tell you that.
Without just violence
Gandhi's scope, and King's, might be vanishingly limited,
negligible (but not non-existent)?
Regarding King
the matter is simple -- he was non-violent but dependent upon
federal force to counter the South's violence.
No doubt without the larger force, the non-violent would be
overwhelmed by southern violence.
Here, non-violence was a tactic, not an ethic.
Gandhi, however, had no violent partner to protect him from the
British. Or did he?
1. There was the potential violence of the population, which Gandhi
restrained but could release which the British feared, and
2. It was the restrained (limited scope) violence of the British that
allowed Gandhi to exist rather than be extinguished--this restraint
was a (British) cultural imperative (limited scope) as well as
emanating from Britain's view of India as a protectorate and
valued citizen of the United Kingdom (defensive posture).
What about violence or threat of violence to compel compliance with
community
as in mortgage foreclosure, driving without license, drug possession.
Perhaps it is necessary violence to maintain orderly commerce, the
common space, and preempt bad behaviors associated with
otherwise neutral, private acts.
The defensive posture is the common good; the limited scope is
forgoing deadly force.
But the citizen, too, must maintain a disciplined, armed non-violence,
in case the state (the janjaweed) engages in an unjust, autoimmune
violence.
Hence, a gun in every home.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 9:56 AM UTC
She’s a rose
Her thorns are my flaws
People always say how She’s pretty but leave her without picking her up,
They harvest her and put her on display what is that called? Life?
People complain about her thorns like no other rose has them?
She’s proud of her thorns they’re part of who She is,
Call them battle scars
Call them her guardians
They won’t hurt you if your tough enough though?
Why do you think roses have thorns?
Why don’t you just try and pick her up?
I promise her thorns won’t hurt you!
They just want to be valued for being part of her,
Get to know her as a whole I promise you won’t regret it?
Maybe you’ll find her thorns beautiful too!
Take her outside this flower store
Call her yours
We all have flaws,
We all have had something that hurt people before,
It doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be given chances,
Doesn’t mean that the rest of us don’t need love,
Open your eyes see the beauty inside her,
In the things she survived
She’s strong,
She’s worth more than gold,
Don’t give up on her,
Pull her out of her roots,
Give her life somewhere else,
But if you can’t pick her up because of her thorns your wrong!
She’s a rose,
She’s the voice the winds the beat and she sings a beautiful song,
Don’t be afraid of what it takes to get her,
Be afraid of losing her,
Something so beautiful,
Yet so fragile,
Don’t break her,
Just love her,
Please just give her a chance,
Don’t judge her thorns from where you stand,
She’s beautiful, unique, life changing, Loyal, Understanding, so much more than you know and just wants to be valued.
She’s a rose
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 12:40 PM UTC
He lets her touch him intimately, without emotion
when in some pretext she is alone,
in his cubicle with him, discussing things inane,
a software environs need not be concerned
some times when she passes through,
her longing crosses limits, these days
it has become frequent, to the extent others to notice.
she found silly excuses, fifth time this morning
but he can't hurt her feeling, a team member valued,
she contributes to his success, as the team leader
He can see her need for comfort,
under her tired eyes dark shadows of sleepiness
lay curled like a depressed mongrel,
yet another duel she had with that nincompoop
she calls her husband, all through last night;
a sudden pang he feels calls his wife
asks if she is fine, to ease his guilt that raises
its head like a snake from under the cover of grass.
"A housewife has a thousand things to do, why don't you
find a buxom colleague to flirt, if that is the need"
she banters and teases him on his illogical concerns.
Through the glass parting he discreetly watches her face
heard a murmur arising inside,"the ***** plans the next move"
panicked he tried to concentrate on the screen
that looked frightening, the deadline getting nearer and nearer
by each hour, he heard the heavy foot fall
at that moment he heard a thud, as if something fell down
everyone was running towards her workstation.
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 10:04 AM UTC
an all purpose cleaner response to the
how-ya-doing-question,
as my vibe unmistakable;
the hatred in the world directed at
MY PEOPLE,
is inexplicable, beyond reason,
a hatred raw and pure in the
tiny places we humans hide it, lest
our ancient linkage to an unreasoned,
embarrassing emotion, be revealed
but now revealed it is reveled,
as the freedom to despise is a
valued thing
is an ancient scar, now freshly wounded
and the two thousand year old accumulated, callused,
surrounding wafer thin, layered upon layer of
tissue,
wiped away
in utter disbelief
cleansed,
a different kind of impure clean,
“like” an ethnic cleansing,
traceless, whisked away in a wink of moment,
a goner.
like hope, prior sentient optimism
sentenced to life imprisonment and
this sentence, and this very sentence!
written finally understanding that it is
a punishment
far worse than the quick relief of death.
c’mon, how about a few “fukk you jew”
cri de coeur, heartfelt, genuine, pointless
hate
no, not I, no, not me,
spare me the pithy comments,
the pointless sympathy, glistening
like evaporating water droplets
before disappearing, I ask myself,
not
why they hate, why it persists,
for this I understand and accept
the foulness of what we are capable of is,
beloved,
as a secret pleasure, now secreted in torrents.
no, I ask myself,
why do I write poetry,
for it is as pointless as
the hatred directed at me,
from birth, till death,
and ever after,
the humanity of poetry
just another fraud
another reason
why this man cries in the bathroom,^
not from any shape of shame,
because poetry is pointless
in times of hatred, and now we
know, recognize, it is always
somewhere, nearby, always
present and prescient,
pointless hatred,
itching to be pointed at me,
makes for
pointless poetry.
To whom shall I point my poetry?
Nov 12, 2023
Nov 12, 2023 at 2:08 AM UTC
Received on February 14th, valentines day
Not meant to be this way
Just for my soul to train
The cup she gave me
my valued possession
turned to the thing
blocking progression
I drink from it
Filled with rage
Wrists un-slid
again, this stage
Keep it to tease
the beast inside me
for if I throw it away
I would be the same
that I was the day
I broke her
and threw her away
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 5:49 AM UTC
for Alyssa Underwood
~~~
my poems do not trend, go viral,
Fast and Furious!
yet, they do not die
they lay in plain sight pebbles scattered,
smoothed by time,
upon the surface of the
green earth waiting patient, virtuous,
purposed for itinerants bards
to trip over one
one some someday
somehow they accrete a readership,
slow stepping and steady from,
|the seekers and the stumblers,
the droplet drinkers,
meanderers of the tomes and tombs of prior years,
miners for nuggets in the poem pools that form
beneath the alluvial streaming
of the waterfall crescendo
of words
I like this
when another traveler sends me a like,
a petite amuse-bouche bite of appreciation,
for a long ago, barely recalled, writ,
allowing them to carve their initials upon the
external, visible roots of my tree trunk,
invading me, by darkening a prior tree internal ring,
forcing me to look down,
look back,
take measure of myself,
accepting myself as not wanting,
nor lacking in other's acceptance
these statements are neither boastful or illusory,
*yet still joyous, like caramel pleasures,
slow to chew, fast to the taste,*
reminding me of old friendships,
well valued,
though no longer fully employed,
their uncovering is my own refreshed exposure,
their discovery is my own re-discovery,
exposing flaws and fallacies,
even fallow,
mostly shallow facts
about me
all of them,
a sundae of truths and lies, sharing a happy laugh
with and at
me,
when I think to myself,
Holy Crap! did I write that?
copyright 2015 by Nat Lipstadt
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 3:35 PM UTC
Since childhood we made choices of good or bad
Since childhood we made choices to be happy or sad
Choices we made stick to truth or fake
Choices we made learning to give or take
Teenage passed, parental pressure in making choices
Teenage passed, with our thoughts all filled of their noises
Our growing dreams were hard choices to refine
Our growing dreams to chase? Or society divine?
Threatening were some choices, see clues
Threatening were valued people, we lose
So promise...
Today I will stick to the choices I make
Today as I love myself more than it takes
Will not run around to make your world mine
Will not run to get your attention in dime
At every step two paths divide
At any step you can choose yours and I will choose mine
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 4:00 PM UTC
Eggs on bread, eggs on rye.
Eggs in the sky, by and by.
My love for eggs will never die
since eggs will never tell a lie.
Eggs on toast, on a roast.
Eggs are always valued the most.
My love for eggs is something I'll boast,
from east to west, and coast to coast.
Eggs are hard, they never crack.
Unless hit with the force of a resounding smack.
I will be there to protect, and to hold back.
And for the egg's safety I will attack.
Eggs with butter, eggs with beans.
What do you think this all means?
You are an egg; a fine cuisine.
And my love for you will forever be serene.
Nov 22, 2017
Nov 22, 2017 at 10:31 AM UTC
Birthdays from childhood
Are full of celebrations, is understood.
It was not any different for me
Till the unusual plea!
For my 13th birhday
The first time I gave away!
Instead of getting gifts
I contributed to the orphans by giving gifts...
Now I look back to those days
On how happy were they in all ways
I have given tones of gifts
To my fellow companions
But nothing can equalize the happy faces
Of the orphans in their mazes.
Even today I relish
The small gifts I bestowed
To those unknown orphans,,,
Is what which makes my life today
With a brimming hurray!
The way they valued my gifts
No matter how small
They looked at me tall,
And gave the happiest call
Which I would never forget at all!
Those were the real happy days of mine
Which are valued as divine
And will never decline
But I do hope will combine
To give more hapiness: for I define:-
We make a living by what we get
And make a life by what we give!.
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 12:41 AM UTC
Who were you?
A foreigner
a mere woman?
Perhaps I valued you
beyond the common measure
I think of the possibility
of lives we have lived
in some past time
some other world
I guess I am a Buddhist
after all.
Because
this fascination
this love
goes beyond my experience
What can I compare it to?
I believe in the potency of desire
that it can manifest itself
across a span of years
a span of lifetimes
I can imagine
that we were
then as now
different in appearance
from cultures widely separated
Let's say that I wanted you
that you wanted me
for so it is today
Let's say that circumstances
kept us apart
or prevented us from meeting
as equals
Let us say, finally,
that this world
in which anything seems to be permitted
was created for us
that we might meet again.
What an absurd
romantic notion!
Tonight the lights are all on.
Other beings surround me.
This world is a different world
for each one of them,
though strangely the same.
Surely this world is ours.
The lights
are brightly lit.
Thousands of insects
cover the glass
dazzled by this light.
We must be dazzled, as well.
For none of us can see.
Not a one of us
can touch the heart
of another.
So since all is permitted
let us permit ourselves this
that we can touch one another
each into each.
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 10:25 PM UTC
She was an afterthought,
Like salad,on the side
Like a footnote to a long letter,
Like curry leaves to gravy,
Like the dregs at the bottom of a cup of tea,
Like the second man on the moon,
She was an afterthought,
Always a step behind,
Always a second choice,
Never sought after or valued,
Neither loved nor cherished,
Like a faded old photograph,
Like an out of tune guitar gathering dust in the attic,
She was an afterthought,
Quickly replaced,easily forgotten and never remembered
Sep 29, 2012
Sep 29, 2012 at 8:28 AM UTC