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William A Poppen Dec 2017
Life Without Resentment

Nearly everyone has stored
among hardbacks and paperbacks
or dusty mental drawers
resentments, gathered incidentally
unintentionally or
by rubbing shoulders
with ingrates and other
irritating souls

Meeting her, she exudes
an excitement for what is said
while displaying an openness
a self-reliance
that disallows any acrimony
indignation or animosity

No bitterness is harbored
nor rancor secreted
among the ruins
of her disappointments

Not long-suffering
the past is forgiven and forgotten

Not apprehensive or perturbed
she treads in this moment
with the power of living in the present
no longer feeling victimized
She lives refreshed, restored
without resentment
My impression of someone I know who now seems free of resentment
Matthew S Dec 2017
What do you think
is God's big plan
When you have a face of a woman,
But the heart of a man?

When your trapped in the female check box
And your parts don't match your head
But society stares at you like a hawk
Because society wants you dead

I looked up to you like a baby calf
Looking up to its oh so loving mother
Did you do this for a laugh?
Was this pain meant for another?

Because I've been told by your people, oh great father
That you will not love me the way you made me,
That we will never see each other

Should i stay
In the body that you gave me?
Or should i learn to let it go?
To let things be?

But staying is hell
And leaving is heaven
So much that I'm willing to go to hell
That I'm willing to never have a taste of heaven

Why god did you make me look this way
Then make my heart someone different

Did you do it to test me?
To show me that I'm strong?
Or did you make a mistake?
Did you get my formula wrong?

I cant let this go,
Why cant you see,
I have to let my colors flow,
I cant let things be,

I'm sorry god
But please try to see,
I was never that girl
You wanted me to be
Uh this was the first poem i wrote when i started writing poems.
Or at least the first poem that i wrote for fun.
Its a bit ****** and different than the poems i write now but hey, it got me into writing poems
A Henslo Nov 2017
Lying under the acorn tree
We indulged each other's company
Hours of playing catch and kiss
Imagining years of happiness
Eternal enchantment, you and me

When you left, the other day
Was it love that made me claim
You never would be happy again?
What laws of nature must we obey?
Do lizards and butterflies really play?
Inspired by a Royal Delft cloisonné wall tile
CC Nov 2017
You're allowed to get mad
You don't need permission to shout at someone when they ask you for unreasonable things
Like to keep your temper in check when they don't respect that you're old enough to not take their **** storm of ******* manipulation
You can get mad, go on
You have every rational logical explanation but it's stuck in your head
So why don't you just hit back? It isn't like they didn't hit you first
You have every reason to get mad
The guy just comes back without a word and doesn't know how you'll react so he then makes a statement of power by being an *******
His fear is your reason to get mad
Get mad at his fear with a sharp tongue and a voice of fire
He can't step on you
Em MacKenzie Sep 2017
The broken man can not feel,
no, the broken man can not heal.
The broken man creates a child,
and leaves it defenseless in the wild.

The broken man does not care,
no, the broken man is never there.
The broken man is built to roam,
after he destroys your home.
He'll put your life upon a shelf,
yes, the broken man only loves himself.
The broken man has no voice,
ignoring common sense with every choice.

It's his world, it's his life,
you've been hurled, for his wife.
It's his plan, it's his goals,
the broken man leaves broken souls.

The broken man just lives for fun,
he believes he is the only one.
The broken man is always dazed,
and believes his family is not phased.
The broken man cares much for wealth,
but still he only loves himself.
The broken man is my father,
and I don't wish to be a broken daughter.

It's his world, it's his life,
he’s got pearl, I’ve got strife.
It's his clan, filled by holes,
the broken man leaves broken souls.

The broken man does not feel,
no, the broken man will always steal.
The broken man creates a child,
and the broken man has never smiled.
The broken man cares not for health,
but he'll always only love himself.
The broken man is my father,
because of the mother I miss; he forgot her.

It's his world, it's his life,
you've been hurled, for his wife.
It's his plan, it's his goals,
the broken man leaves broken souls.
Abbigail Aug 2017
I often wonder if there are ghosts
that watch me
as I reach out to the other side of the bed,
laugh,
and whisper things,
pretending you're still there

Sometimes I play a game in my head
where I hit the play button on my life
and you have no choice but to watch from wherever you are
as I surround myself with things
I know would make you miss me

Do you ever think that when you dream of someone,
they can feel it
and maybe they wake up remembering you somehow?

I doubt you could stand waking up
with my name in your mouth each morning
Not when you've earned the right to forget it

Love and hate are independent sentiments
but somehow with you they're interchangeable

I've read somewhere about the science behind our memories,
how they paint a pretty picture
of a person we can no longer have,
but underneath all the layers of thick paint are the realities;
the uncertainty,
the mean streaks,
the resentment,
all in ***** splashes of muddy brown and red

The problem is that
I've been scrubbing at your painting in my head
until my hands go numb
and I still only see all my favorite colors
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