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Mana Dec 2014
Oh I have reasons to be sad
And reasons to be happy
Seasons to embrace
but the winter just feels ******
I've found a silver lining
or maybe it's a gold
It's this little thing called LOVE
And it never ever gets old.
I heard it as a whisper,
as a voice inside my head.
It said "I Love You Katherine"
And it rarely ever gets said
So now I learn to listen
and embrace the happy glow,
it makes me warm and tingly
and now it really starts to flow.
I want to give it to you all
but right now this one's for me.
You see I've been neglecting it
and it's helping me feel free.
Soon I won't have to listen
and I'll just begin to know
if you neglect the voice inside too,
know that Love can ease your woes
and it's never to late to do.
Lynn Greyling Dec 2014
In the last shadows
you probe a blackness
that cannot be fathomed,
for a shaft of light
that will set you free
from the agony inside you.

To gracefully warm you,
leading you from the cold
recesses of your mind
to face a new morn
alighting in the East.
About brain injury
Karina B Nov 2014
The best dreams take us to the most far away places,
where the ocean swells, or the desert winds howl,
the sun gleams across the rippling oasis,
or the air thrums with the hoot of an owl.
The best dreams take us to the most far away places.

We search, in circles, for the place in our dreams,
the place where we dance on the stars--
And we search until we scream,
Ending up in small town bars,
Because we can't find the far away place in our dreams.

No place of golden clouds and glory,
Of distant shores, and ringing songs,
No place of an endless happy story,
Where all of us belongs.
There is no place of or dreams--

But here.
We are not in that distant land,
We are hear, on this Earth, with all of the fear,
And we must learn to smile, and stretch out our hand,
Until our dreams stop searching for that far away land.

We must make our own far away land.
Molly Sep 2014
just lie to me and say the emptiness will go away someday,
tell me it gets better,
tell me I won't always feel like this.
I need something to hope for,
something to look forward to.
I don't want a light at the end of the tunnel,
I want the tunnel to be lit on the inside, too.
I don't want to wait until the end to finally be able to see.
improvement is not getting used to the pain,
improvement is the pain going away.
if you had a hole in your hand your entire life
yes, you would get used to it
but there'd still be a ******* hole in your hand
and I am trying to hold on but everything keeps slipping through the ******* hole
and no one is telling me how to make the hole go away,
they just keep saying I'll learn how to live with it.
Phillip Hooper Sep 2014
I have travelled, many a weary step, so long, and for so long with baited breath,

ANXIOUS

ready to be relieved of the responsibilities of life
craving freedom from calamity and strife
frantic and frenzied
as though at some point i might find the answer
to an oft ignored question

i look up at the stars, as they look down at me
and bask in the glory of the past and present's symmetry
because there are so many of us...
all bound to humanity
now passed through the flame of mortality
the "others"
the ones who have asked themselves why they're here
the intellectuals warriors who have no need for fear
when they look into the veil of death
and sense the first vibrations on the pulse of life

when i used to dip my pen into the ink,
metaphorically, because my  computer helps me to think

i used to doubt engaging in the process of creation
it used to enrage
my self serving denomination

the sensation of never quite being able to express yourself as fluidly as option b
or the devilry that comes from hiding yourself within the layers of flesh referred to as anatomy

i use to cower by act three,
run from the stage before the audience saw through me,
never receiving my final bow

but now i realize,
that at the core of my existence
imbedded in my instincts
is the ability of my creator....

and I'm a fan

so now when i dip my pen to the paper
I'm a masked crusader
cool, liek darth vader
and i aint never going back
to that tired dusty beaten track
refered to, in passing, as memory lane
Spencer Dennison Jun 2014
I want to be better. But not the kind of better you see on the billboards advertising gyms or the ones mentioned in the hymns sung by entire choirs of liars and deniers of bad desires. I want to be better in the worst way possible.

I want to play air-guitar concerts for stuffed animals, I want to be able to smile in a way that leaves contempt snuffed out like a candle-cap. I want to be able to rap in Chinese.

I want to be able to reinvent the word 'cool', hang out with absolute tools and not just because somebody has to. I want to be able to rule my own mind and mind my own rules. I want to find my running shoes so when I go to the fight behind the dollar store, I'll remember what I bought them for.

I want to be so much more and all these issues I can't ignore be much less. I want to make myself confess how much I love my friends, turn dead-ends into new beginnings and then spend my lottery winnings on a stranger because the only danger I see is never having been able to know them.

The truth is, I'll never be the icon of an attractive guy. I'm never be able to buy a girl a drink and not have her immediately think of what kind of a clod I am that thinks that kind of thing still works.

I keep finding myself trying to rewrite my history where the cliffhanger at the end has a parachute. Where minute details matter less and I can say I tried my best and people noticed.

I will one day be better but I'll always still be me and honestly, I think I'd still sell my inheritance to put enough money down the wishing well to make the two days you were in love with me swell into an eternity.

But we both have other things to be doing than loving someone. We have legacies we have to build on the our bare backs and suicide attacks that need to be led.

And let it be said that I have not  a clue-'n'-half how this turned into a love poem...

but in my head there is a world where in that time and place, I didn't need to be better.

I wasn't perfect. I was good enough.
To truly write
and transform what was once
sheer excrement
into a jewel
that others treasure
making so many wonder.

How I desire to achieve such.

— The End —