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Perdue Poems Apr 2019
How many of humankind
think ourselves seeds growing in the dirt
certain showers will pour praise from the heavens
"nurture us, provide for us, acknowledge us !" we demand
yet we seem to forget the work of the seed in the land
so tough, so hard, so determined is the seed
that it breaks the barriers set in dirt
but do we?
do we work?
or do we sit in the Earth
questioning why the sun hasn't shined upon our face
wondering when dirt will push up our pedestal to the surface
I don't know if it's very obvious, but the poem itself is supposed to look like a tree! Hope you enjoyed
:)
Eva Apr 2019
Silent ride through the fire

I won't be your backseat driver.

You take the wheel and ride

Bask in what you feel; what makes you feel alive.



Rejuvenate your spirit, ease your mind.

I know this world ain't been too kind...



I'll be your guardian angel

Forever watching from all angles.

You'll never want, need, or fear;

The one who protects and provides is right here.

Legs when you can't walk, eyes when you can't see;

Anytime you feel weak, you can lean on me.





My love for you knows no ends.

I am your guardian angel, and you are my best friend.
Sophia Apr 2019
A glance across a room
A not so subtle smile
The vortex of what is yet to come
The wander and the yearning
No sleep, up till 4 am
Exchange of what has been and is
And what could be, but may not
The words that seal what hearts feel
The one who becomes familiar like home
Arms wrapped around your soul
The anguish
Of the words
The ones that sit deep
Brushed from the surface,
They fester beneath
The words that make you promises
And the silence that breaks them
When words are not enough
When they become louder, meaner,
Shouting
When you finally find the words to say
I’ve had enough
When your words no longer work
Banished into regret
Words left unrequited
Unspoken words.
Rakha Mar 2019
my mother once foretold
that my overwhelming disgust
poured onto my skin and
patches of personalities
will put me on a gridiron
and wave me as a vapor heat
bearable, annoying, and
unwanted — but!

it is a process i forego
before i love the person
who will love me more than
i despise me

and that person is me

i am my wildfire
and i am my flood
and i wreck my world
rebuild it with bare hands
the red stain on my palm
speaks of the sturdy brick i built
A Simillacrum Mar 2019
Here we go again, pain.
How long, now?
I love you more
than I ever.

How long, now?
How long's it been,
since you've loved me?
Did you ever?

I'm not upset.
I'd rather have these
frequent sleepless nights
than have a dream.

I'm not mad at you.
Could I possibly?
I'm not upset.
How could I ever?
Stu Mar 2019
Mirroring how the sun falls on cold days,
I can only ever manage faint farewells.
Hands folded across their laps,
and every window left open to hear the rain,
I stumble back to my own safe haven,
But leave scars upon every prophecy they speak.
The truth is I never listened to the wind much.
I never heard the strings ascend,
I never felt the ground move beneath my feet.
I never understood the sweet collections of words
Whispered from a corner of an unknown bedroom
Into the flooded pit stops of my attention span.
I cannot continue to build my own imagery,
Forcing the wallowing, passionless connection
To take ahold my of affection.
Assembling a mixture of memories which
Aren't even my own, haven't happened,
And will never occur.
These heinous acts will allow
Even the slightest amount of aspiration to
Unravel, leaving me with an excuse to deny,
Yet again, All of the bursting white light.
Former lives will pass across the ceiling,
While each new moon phase reveals,
that I am not, and never will be, who I intended
As I grew from innocent, to in control.
The truth is, I am far from in control.
I never allowed myself to listen to the wind.
I have always wanted to hear the strings ascend,
I need to feel for the moving ground.
I must understand the sweet words that will carry me away,
The words that will make me feel whole and free.
Stu Feb 2019
Who do you call when your brain is on fire?
When sunshine strips
begin to fade from the bed sheets,
And you find, yet again,
That you've allowed a day's worth of stability
To deconstruct itself.
For a while, a silhouette you will remain,
Chasing the origin of light,
Only to fall into the one thing blocking it.

What happens when a brain is burnt out?
Drawing out breaths that latch to the cold air,
When you stand with weary muscles,
A title wrapped around your forehead,
And a frustration festering.
Holding close to the last remaining memories,
Of security, of solidarity, of purity.
Losing yourself to yourself,
Costs less and less each time.

When do you decide a brain needs fixing?
When the ride home is full of regret,
And your legs cannot stop shaking.
A miserable night will be swept under the rug,
So dogear the scripture you spoke belligerently,
And the world will suddenly seem small.
A breakdown happens when most needed.
A breakthrough happens when least expected.

How do you fix a brain?
Probably, the day without questioning it all,
Will be the day you figure the most out.
If we can get a mixed up mind to settle,
Then the first thing to learn would
Be the acknowledgment of a new, better life.
We will all survive our demanding brains,
if only someone will show us the way,
Will someone please show us the way,
Before another brain is ignited?
For an old friend.
David Bojay Jan 2019
Talking to my GoPro as if it were you
Current truths
Diminish the whirling blues
inside my head where you don’t have a clue

out the zoo with my emotions
In the beginning eased it with some sleep
Because I couldn’t see the reasons for my grief
Out the shadows and the light is brief
What to think?
What to know?

The tension is rigorous
Kept inside a pin
Let it sit and sizzle until it’s smoke

Open the vents, and let it go

To seize a chance for peace
Dismantle the layers of myself
Find you in a strip
A memory I’ll always love
My love just don’t lose grip

But to love is to see you free
A peak I couldn’t see
Relief indeed
Let it bleed
Let it bleed

Let it bleed

Consume the dooms
Swallow the distrust
The other side of the moon

The ending will come soon

Sitting in my room

About to make some chicken....
ross larson Jan 2019
I lived in a prison
my whole life
a prison made of invisible walls
they imprisoned
parts of me
so early that I did not notice it
until I was almost thirty
it is a prison that
has been handed down
generations
it is the prison that
is created when one believes
one must hide everything
because everything is flawed
and thus everything becomes flawed
nothing remains real
you loose yourself
in the process
of gaining recognition
by being whoever
they want you to be
until you can’t deliver
anymore
this is the day you break
and either dissolve
or pick up the pieces
and slowly become
who you were meant
to be
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