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mariano aponte Jan 2016
Misconceptions
Fasley smiles
Psychoanalyzed  

Could it be my OCDish

Would they agree or disagree
Respectfully  - with no referee

Whatever matter  - It doesn’t

Let it be
I’m carefree
It’s the best defense
Not a draftee

A perfectionist I am
It stems from many forces
My moral sense
At any expense
Not remorses

Their sweet jabs
From the start
Yes
From day one

Like Mr. Shukar - they see
I'm the new prospect

My disposition in scrutiny
As I take in with fluency
No unity
Let it be

I’ll take it in my dome
Its my best cover
Not styrofoam
I'll take it whichever way it's thrown

Please...

Pass the twisted news along
I continue staying strong
Detail-oriented is my syndrome
Qweyku Nov 2016
I speak of love
when I compare you to
sweet summers day
or a rose of its garden

I speak of passage in the sea of time
when I say forever or always
whichever tide comes first.

I speak of knowledge
when I say the body of
a young lady is heavenly
but a womans' decidedly divine

I speak of faith
when I say nothing good
ever became without an
inject of pain

I speak of fear
when I used to say
you'd be gone some day
but now I know,
love transcends the grave

© Qwey.ku
Across the Nation's Prize I say Hello
And Tradition's Tie breaks to meet my Friend
You decide to either say Yes or No
Whichever it is this is not the End
I'm sure glad you enjoyed your Meals to date
Both Horseradish and Wasabi do pair
Now this Hour's Best Time to roast a Steak
Such Great Leisure the Mad Chef can't declare
Now before you leave for Wimbledon's Match
Make sure your Bag is empty from your fill
Obey, and Stony Halites fail to latch
Then you enjoy the Kingdom's Biggest Thrill.
I know not much, with Time and Place obsessed
Least I can share which Merry Face is best.
#tomdaleytv #tomdaley1994
For the past few weeks I noticed Concern
The Fifth Crowned Angel whom I will call Great
For Reasons which my own Mind tried to Learn
And attempt to twist my Clock and my Fate
Soon found your String was cut and justly lost
Thinking one of my Dumb Spots was the Crime
Or perhaps, Prunes, which spent your Meal at cost
Left me with no Change to pay for my Time
Why not? Strangers-by-Instinct I advise
Since this Gadget sponsored the Miracle
Which the Good Solicitor-in-Disguise
Took my Guilty Plans to a Cubicle.
Whichever it was, my Brow genuflect
In Deepest Penance I earn your Respect.
#xlaurenrobsonx
Shofi Ahmed May 2017
On the day
or in the night.
In the dark or
in the light
black or white.

Whatever.
whichever way.

You got a choice
how you look.
On the flip side
or the other side,
any side of the coin.
Down the sun
or down the Moon!
Carter Ginter Jul 2014
I can't have these feelings but I do,
And unfortunately it's for both of you.
Although, technically it's the same objective,
The situations come from opposing perspectives.
I feel everything I can imagine possible,
But the ending result is nothing probable.
My soul feels empty, echoing deep,
And now all I'm begging for is answers, or sleep
Whatever comes first and lasts the longest,
Whichever has effects that work the strongest:
My poisons won't save me this time,
No, with this one the responsibility is mine.
And I'm sorry if my pain hurts you so,
But i swear it's not your fault, I know:
I did this to myself, now must face my own demons,
Alone I must fight until I discover the reasons.
lX0st Dec 2018
I keep the shower window open
In 20 degree weather
There’s somethin’ about feeling
The freeze and burn together
Fusing two halves,
Fueling one desire
Steam pries at pores, like
Needle nose pliers
Winter exploits wounds
Haughty exhales through
Diamond ****** wrist cutters
Cascading
Cherry brandy drain water
Licking ankles purple
Branding Frost’s musings
As my final verse
Fire, ice — whichever comes first
Duality be ******,
I favor efficiency
I’ll marvel as *******
At the sadist who takes me
But know that, once
Is all I can endure
And of this, I am sure
Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
The wood is stacked for winter.
One way out of the mind's limitations
is through other minds' contemplations.
The books are stacked for winter.

Yet even that cannot satisfy.
Failing to hold still for meditation
my teacher smiles, makes this observation:
The purpose of sitting's not to be satisfied

or satiated. Remain hungry,
cold, uncomfortable and counting enemies.
These, and fear, are our commonalities,
and the discipline of not hitting whenever angry.

You'll appreciate dying
quietly at home. Whichever season has been randomly selected will be
      beautiful as ever
as a molecule of water is to all matter.
"In my life there were always too many things."

If there is no time, only change
the linear becomes circular.
Do not say north or south. You're
within the winter range

of chickadee, hawk, owl and heron.
River grapes, rose hips, the cedar waxwings'
repast. Their talk is my reminding
there is change and endurance.
www.ronnowpoetry.com
Polar Mar 2016
I am but a nation,

Torn to pieces

My poor broken heart

left to scatter apart

Like a flag,

Abandoned to the breeze

And the mercy of whichever way

The winds may take me.

My colours are faded

And split apart

Representing the many different parts

Of my life.

Red is my passion

And love in my heart,

White is where my thoughts and feelings

Are at their most pure,

Green is for growth

And my love of nature,

Yellow is my cowardice

Of which I am ashamed,

And black

Contains all possibilities.

In singularity each only represents

Part of me

Only when colours unite together

To unify my soul

Will you ever

Get to see me whole.
RIP Nelson Mandela
King Panda Mar 2016
sculpt me,
young artist
I am your brother
and you are gold
an effigy of
the purest
beauty
Giganti
Jeune Fille a la Gerbe

even your art
I take from you
out of
admiration
I find you
your svelte figure
bending into
the air
your hands
like magic
pricking my fingers
whatever you do
is mine
whichever way
your body turns
is my path
to confusion
ah
Camille
you are splendid
in your task
your caprice
molds the clay
your being
melts my
heart
let me sign
your body
for my
own
Zell Feb 2018
They tell me to either write or say,
Whichever would best light the way.
But there are words that i can neither say nor write,
As if my brain, lips, and heart are in a constant fight.

I yearn to say such things i feel,
Then i realize i could not reveal.
My heart screams out your name,
But my lips could not do the same.
© 2018 D.A. Barreras
The uniVerse Jun 2015
Let me take you on a journey
to learn me
and enter my minds maze
where you will spend days
trying to escape.

From the outside
just an ordinary guy
no reason to think otherwise
but you haven't got a clue
until you step through
the entrance
that's when you start your sentence.

You're free to leave
and free to roam
any time you please
as long as you don't stray
too far from home
that's when you pay.

An enigma
unable to decipher
still trying to find the exit
a reason to exist
I've walked for days
in many directions
but whichever way
or whatever suggestion
I always end back where I started
disheartened.
https://www.instagram.com/p/ByQe6ShHEoK/
Shofi Ahmed May 2017
Come whichever way it is your choice  
Choose your way as you please.
The ground is laid down beneath you  
All around smooth simply a polished circle  
once you're in you are covered you won’t lose.  

Just as the sun never misses, is spot on!  
At the end of the day escapes into the dark  
mixes and rolls in the shadow of the moon.  
A light in the dark, a straight line in curve  
does its dance and bounce.
Tests and retests the golden ratio  
shining at the sunrise angle.
Steve Page Feb 12
My By Day - or my By Night -
which secret me - do you like?
Whichever you dream of,
- it's fine by me,
- my By My Self is where I'll be.
How much of you do you keep to yourself?
A movie star died a day or two ago
She was 97.
She would to say hello to my mother
At evening musicals full of teenaged boys
that I lusted after years ago
She would wave and smile with sparkling eyes
I’d look at mother
“Why?”
Amused, she would say softly
“I don’t know!”
We would giggle together
A rare event

Mother was no chorine
nor wardrobe mistress
She did not peak in the 50s
She did not dance with her husband
under the moon at the Bel Air Bay Club
Her daughter did not write a pop song that oddly charted
She did not struggle to remain in the public’s imagination
They had nothing in common but perhaps a lovely face and a skill at survival
Mom could make her husband move her closer to Johnny on the dance floor.
Whichever direction, Dad obliged.

They locked down that school today
Warned by a rifle in a photo
Of an unstable football pro

These women are dead now
so none’s the wiser
“When you’re a victim of bullying, an option is revenge." said the alumna.
“Just a precaution,” replied the school.

Mother would have been 97 this year as well.
Maybe they’ve met again,
two streaks of illuminated emptiness
Engaging with reservations
Over fitting in and going insane
Over the low self-regard in a champion
or
Being lost at sea.
Tommy Randell Oct 2017
I know you've made a list of me
A balance sheet of sorts
That adds up all the numbers
Into a reckoning of faults
But what use is a spreadsheet
On this cold grey Monday morning
When the bedroom smells of night farts
And there's a recognition dawning
That this one night stand is over
That we both need to get out of here
That whichever one of us slept over
Had better get their **** in gear

Do it slowly find the bathroom
Make some noises, work the clues
Whose flat is it yours or mine?
Take some time to think it through
Give your self a moment to yourself
To play the script out on this drama
Don't be embarrassed, flash the flesh
Get the smile on like the Dalai Lama
We had a **** nobody died
It was probably fun if we could remember
Whether our scores are High or Low
Or even if we are different gender …

+tmy+ 14th October 2017
Just one of those Bi-Moments in Life ... Might have dreamed it, Might have lived it ... it's 30 years ago ***
madyson shaye Aug 2018
1
I read in a poem that there is no sound more ****** than the clink of a belt being undone but you only wear worn out t-shirts and a frown on your face. I think of the sound of tires driving slowly over the asphalt and how I could get turned on easier by a look than a touch.  Your bed and you both taste like sweat but I am not going to complain because I'd rather be overheating than alone. I consider switching on your swamp cooler but it's loud and I want to be able to hear your moans in order to remind myself that you want me too. Do you?

2
I was doing my poetry homework when I had to stop in order to write poetry.

3
I dont know if I can handle the fact that you have made playlists for other people and that is so 2018 of me. Did you make that playlist for her?

4
[redacted]

5
If panic attacks actually helped anything I wouldn't mind the hyperventilating but instead I still feel like a sink has sunk inside my chest even after I've calmed down. Wouldn't it be nice if you could cry it, release it, scream to the skies and then be okay afterwards? I'm not sure who made me believe the symptoms of my mental illness should be like a shower; I don't feel cleansed. I don't feel new. I only feel raw, exhausted. It feels more like that same dull knife is tearing me open each skin layer at a time until I figure out how to grab the hand that holds it or I'm left open on the table, whichever comes first.

6
I'm writing in order to breathe. If I can't get oxygen to my brain my fingers won't be able to move.

7
I'm so scared I'm going to lose you. I don't want you in any other way. I want to love you, hold you.

8
I hear a baby crying outside of your window and I realize I need to get up to go home and get my work clothes. I find these simple things excruciating. Writing to you is a diary but I never should have learned to open my mouth and speak.

9
I started this poem four months ago and titled it a seven day long poem but I guess now it’s more than that. You always made me feel the things I’m currently feeling, I've never given up control this much in my life. I like to be in control, the one ignoring, the one who needs the time. I wish I didn’t love you like I do (it's just, there you know. It won't go away. It's not too much or too little, it's just stubborn, just like you). I'm so scared I'm going to lose you. I don't want you in any other way. I want to love you, hold you. Did you make that playlist for her too?
Here we are again.
My emotions are a weather vane
Something my hubby knows
I laugh, I cry, I live, I  ‘die'
Whichever the way life blows.

I drown myself in salty tears
I sink to the ocean’s floor
Then I rise and build a boat
And row myself to shore.

I’m living in a hostile place
That wants to fry my bones
But I have Air and Water there
So you will hear no moans.

I take that back - there will be moans
Because that’s what I do
I weep and wail to no avail
And then I muddle through.

My pen lives in the shadows
While my life lives in the sun
Trust my perseverance
Until this race is run.
ljm
A silly scribble that was fun to write.
The Sphinx Sphanther, an ailuralien
from Slazenger 7, Ulthar System,
surveyed the vapid dullpink lunascape
of Smars. As he scanned yonder scanyons &
clabby tableland of Smartian terrain,
his 8ft henchbot, Ernie, numberwanged
'23467 097
11.' The Sphinx Sphanther's binary-brained
blabacus of a hotchbot robutler
doubled as personal security,
equipped w/ chainsawwindmillstars for hands.
But scant call for slicing 'n'dicing crowd
control here: Smars was desolate as smug
snow, too xeric to dessicater to
desertcraturf - in that, arid aphex
of its counterpart thru the quantumgate,
unsparticulate Mars. Sphinx had been there
too, long after the novalia cleared
by the Elon Muscovites for dometown
of New Creationham instead became
obumbrated by proxy war, a mauve
Somme for drones. The Zeta-Reticulan
barhover he'd met centuries later,
at Sagittarius Bolognaise, had
divulged he'd been staking out the Terrans
for millennia, concluding that quite
clearly they weren't Kardashev calibre:
' The Terran jackal apes could never build
fair Isratin on Mars's blank red slate,
but desecratered Earth 2.0
w/ telefactored lex talionis.
Palasraeli peace-world a daffy god's
dream.' But no roseplated, plaintive past
of lost races & their last, lost chances
would weigh on Sphinx Sphanther over 0-
g 'n' ts - least of all, kamikozmic
Terrans, ghosts of toddlers before his time.
Besides, he purrferred the splanetary
systems in his home universe, S-side
of the supersymmetrical stargate.
Even planet Smearth, whose gnomes salivate
for colloidal silver & often ate
salvers. But multiversally treasure-
hunting catman was not on Smars for smurrks,
nor to holoholo like a stalko
thru the pink pother, a fishbowlhead space-
*** w/ the best seat i.e. the worst seat
in a stadial sandstorm of foxglove
fog. In whirbles pulsive, Ernie's clicking
clock breath axlegroused, '23824
71719', as the Sphinx
Sphanther fremescently urged the servo-
droid to 'move your chrome cuirasse!' Which encased
Ernie's one lung of mesh & blexcroid heart,
repurposed by a gizmomancer from
silicone garage off Milkomeda
magic roundabout. Or was it spaceport
at the Smilkomeda?  Whichever,  the
Sphanther had long ago evolved beyond
flying saucers of cream. Caterpillar-
tracked calculator w/ a sporknose &
whisking shuriken fingers, Ernie creaked
futuristically behind its feline
master, as they descended in oblique
Indian file down scarp of Mountbattern
grink, for now the Sphinx Sphanther had bird's-eyed
some bearings. Manshaped moggy & lotto-
machine-A.I.'d adjutant had for days
yomped the candydross regolith of Smars,
a desert every bit as brass monkies
& indistinguishable in aspect
(save to areographers) as ******
tundra of its supersymmetrical
sister sphere, yet pink as amassed honkies
(tho' ofays blushing ashen w/ gammon
guilt). A holo-map Ernie projected
from its cyflaptic eyezor had led them
this far, but now the Sphinx Sphanther relied
on the sort of stillicide scholarship
a cat gleens from spacerats (w/ translation
bracelet bangling his back, a caudal wire),
because Ernie's pirate-ninja meter
was in emergency credit. The pair
hinterlunged on thru tayammum douches
of inextinguishable pink, spinning
powders, smaze of Smartian haboob, until
Sphinx Sphanther sphied, sphorry, spied his wrecked grail.
'Initiating sleep sequence passout-
code: rats apollo defile robot tide,'
catman commanded his lollygagging
tincan manservant to take hard-earnied
standby. Then, before Ernie's spangbolts could
cease squeaking, before its hi-tec bits quit
bleeping &  the combined constadrone of   
mechanical chakras was susurrust
(engulfed by speckled banshee breaker of
nominal boughs, wolf sough of Smars booting
alien sandcastles), the Sphinx Sphanther
in his eagerness nearly lapsed into
quadrupedal ignominy, as he
raced towards the ruins, object of his
enantionautic planethopping
over 8 & 1/2 lifetimes. Not much
remained of whatever edifice had
once graced Smars, a primordial witness
wrought in masonry as lurid as some
Lovecraftchild of Liberace, its pink
pillars & pink hunky punks bubblegum
rubble now, vividness conspicuous
against the grink sands.These Smartian ruins
were only slightly less ancient than God
& his blue hypernovae toybox, or
Tohu wa-Bohu's pantherine absence
before that. The Temple of the Dark Lord,
Yod-Coalescence, indisputably
a stripling of deep architecture next
to the Sphinx Sphanther's incomparable find.
By the same token, the fabled Terran
city of Dubai would be an ****
baby of steel & glass next to this site
of cosmic heritage, this exploded
damask rose of a UFOpolis,
stone petals shed by flower of dust. Engraved
on block immemorial, poking out
of a sandbank & imbued w/ forlorn
fascination for upright ****, such as
xoanon of Eve might hold for Conan
the Slybrarian, was maxim in long
dead tongue, the long dead sense of which rendered
it accidental koan, dumb poem
by anon culture that might as well be
entitled 'Sirenen Istigkeit'. Food
for thought anorexic Time, bulimic
Space inedibly graffitied on Smars:
'Nulla Dies Sine Linear B'.
Under cured Klyntar yurt later that night,
whilst Ernie hummed w/ Atari sheep sprites,
the Sphinx Sphanther dreamt of mighty works thru
the wringer of longslid signifiers:  

The barhover hovered above
membranous whatevers of mise-en-dream,
before the scene settled like anarchic snow.
Smickey Smouse was on a mauve rove
one smauve Tuesday. As Smickey
scanned yonder young scones,
young dust granted him edgehug.
Ernie said : Numb blah, numb blah, numb blah!
They certainly weren't in Snorwich, Snorfolk, anymore.
They hinterlunged on thru candybrass
of dross monkies, pinning spowders,
until Smickey Smouse smied, smorry, sphied
the Temple of the Dark Lord,
Pantherine Absence.
Smickey Smouse said: Wait there,
I'm just going for a quick Slazenger-7.
Ernie said: Skoda codas.
Elon Musk divulged he'd been
staking out the Terrans
for millennia & concluded they were in
emergency credit.
So they descended a serdab
poking into a sandbank,
its venom curd of darkness
further diagonally desecraterd
by Ernie's sadotronic **** attachment w/ knobs on,
thagomiser **** or Oumuamua
of steel & glass.
Its mace ***** drilled down
until Smickey, Ernie & Elon
were 3 spelunking sphinxes,
spelunking deeper into the recesses
of the alien sandcastle,
by the light of Ernie's eyeflaptic cyzors.
But you can't holoholo in a fishbowlobowlo,
lavalampadomancy of a daffy god's dream.
They longslod into the long dead clock breath
of Ozymandias' unconscious.
Should a cave-in cave in,
a hi-drama-gen bomb bomb,
quidzinc Ernie said: Inadjuvant Elon
Rifles should have hired
ghosts of toddlers  
for our pirate-ninja security.
Above them,
the embitteringly bitty yonder
stretched lone & level,
a ventriloquantum of solace on a grink brick
remained undiscovered & unsquandered,
waiting for a greater translator .
Ernie said: edit to bore life dollop a star.
Ernie said: Numb blah, numb blah, numb blah!
poeto Nov 2017
sometimes a saddened heart
needs the rain
sometimes a saddened heart
needs the sunshine
but whichever it needs
a flower should grow
in this saddened heart
with the help of the rain
and the sunshine
a saddened heart
should grow to become
like the fun and the wine
a saddened heart
should grow into the kind
KCibot May 18
I built the bridge
From right to left
But it was crossed
Both ways to death
I should have known
That traffic flows
Whichever ways
Our feet can go
Yet most the flow
Is under
Not
Over
.
.
.
Yet
blackbox Mar 2014
I used to wonder each and every time,
Whether all his acts were false pretense or simply divine.
It was hard to believe he could ever lie,
Yet! The toughest thing for me was to bid him goodbye.

What I saw in the start was love and care for me,
Later I realized, it was a camouflage I couldn't foresee.
The moment I was on the verge to open my tight shut eyes,
There he was standing with another disguise.

I tried really hard to unveil his mask,
Thinking it is finally an end to this task.
What I found there was the shock of my life,
There were more masks beneath this mask of guise.

I ran away from him and thought of never seeing his face,
Just a flash of his memories reminded me of all those days.
I stopped myself to take my steps backward,
Not realizing that I was going back to a coward.

I knew I was making a blunder,
'Cause to him I was going to surrender.
I was too weak, that from him I failed to save my enclave,
But couldn't fight back as my greed for his love had made me his slave.

This self-revelation brought a start to another set of pretense,
Surprisingly! It was not him but me following thence.
Ignoring all his faults and lies I had ever known,
I moved forward with him, in selfish motive of my own.

Money or fame was not the reason,
Why then my heart longs for this person?
The question I used to ask myself every now and then,
The only viable answer was maybe I can relate to all his pains.

It was really long I felt for someone so fast,
I knew I was gonna go away and this ‘relationship’ is not going to last.
This realization was enough for me to forgive all his faults,
Call me selfish! But this was the only way to untangle the knots.

Maybe it’s not pretense, something I can’t understand,
Whenever I needed him, he stood by me as a friend.
So, what encouraged him to lie and betray me again and again?
Fear of losing people, makes him think only about his gains.

Digging deeper and deeper into this matter,
I forgot I don't have much time and I can do this later.
Few moments that are left, I wanna live with him
Sooner or later, he'll find his true self within

Lover or caretaker, whichever form he portrays to be in,
I can still find a good person in him,
So, when my love for him is so deeply intense,
Then, why not I live in another false pretense?!
Acina Joy May 29
The emptiness rests within me, flowing through my veins and my bones, solidifying the feeling of one-ness that resides within me alone. How do I stop this feeling? How do I stop this un-feeling?

I do not know the answer.  It is unattainable, far beyond the scope of my state of mind. I understand not what makes me starve through the night; what makes my lips ache and crack; what makes me sleep through the day; what makes me lie awake when all I want is to die.

If I am a tapestry, a threaded piece, then all I want to do is to tear my nerve-endings apart, perhaps slowly--or quickly, whichever it may be. I want to pluck every thread and slowly pull myself into mere shreds of who I am until nothing is left. And I want to permeate, like water evaporating through the atmosphere.

Unseen by the naked eye.

Maybe then, when I join the very air I breathe, I will know what it feels like to become something.

To simply belong.
This is how the ache for freedom gradually grows.
julianna Sep 2018
I like to sing.
Does that make me a siren?
I’ll lure you in, but if you don’t respond, I’ll quiet down my siren song.
I’ll swim away and won’t try again until you’re in need of a friend.
Just ask me and I’ll sing to you in hopes of making us forever,
But most times they just sail away and I’m left swimming here whichever.
I like to sing, and you can too,
But a sailor makes a siren through.
Again I’ll sing my siren song and I will sing them all to you.
Sylvia Fénix Jun 2018
It wades down the end
From upon the hill, it descends
In it's raggedy, misshapen claw it desperately
clutches a tool,
or a weapon
The scythe sways idly from left
toward right
Brushing along the tips of
the field's innocent leafgreen, darkened
by the dusk of the night
Through the stealth, it's entire form is
blackened. Hidden from me

An occasional glimmer of moonlight
glances my eye, reflected from it's iron blade
It beams infrequently across it's figure
allowing me to spy it's features
Pinhole eyes, a dark but somehow bright white
gazing right through me as I into it
It's mouth was stitched up, but smirking toward me
fabric lips stained with crimson betrayal
I smile at the symbolism and accept
I feel a sharpness drawl against the flesh
below my chin
The movements holding the same creeping terror
But I stay unafraid
I close my eyes
I make my peace
I right my wrongs
I ready myself for the reaping

But then my eyes are open
And the field is bright
Daylight shone upon the roses and the daisies
with the foliage inbetween blazing green
For a moment I theorize a dream
That the encroaching monster
was simply an unconscious figment
But as my hand ghosted my neck
and felt light scaring over it's delicacy
My ideas drift towards the reason
why that thing left me standing

From across this strange place I see
perched upon a simple, smiling scarecrow
a bat
usually, this would be quite the worrying situation
especially as he was staring directly at me
But I could only smile at the black-winged one
And wave my own wing in it's direction
Turning around, I began to make my way elsewhere
In whichever direction destiny would push me next
Weightless, feeling free of my hand-crafted shackles
The cage I designed for myself broken
And you know what?
As I left that field

I think the bat might have smiled back
new chapter boyes and gorls
lets see where it takes us
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