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Shakti Asana Jul 2019
I want to be the potter
and you the clay
I want to work you with my hands
My fingertips pressing
now....against the keys
the board stiff under the sensitive pads
as I feel you press back against me
imagining
your lips
soft
wet
tenderly
pressing
into me.

The clay
soft and supple under my hands
forming you,
widening you again and again
my muscles working
against your stiffer aspects
as we spin together
wetting, re-wetting
and smoothing
my hands against
your silky slick
foundation
strong and yet pliable
seeking relief
from standing strong
and unyielding
need.

You are a deeper container
than I anticipated
and I, a roaring flood
threatening
sweep you
away.

but you hold...
steady.


What Joy!
What Relief!

we never expected
to contain one another
without harm!
without fear!

Peaceful
now
our lines
flow together
the potter
the clay
the hand
and the wheel
we come together.

I love how we feel.
Flinging this out there without knowing if it is good or even qualifies as poetry. Who cares for merely good? If I feel it, receive it into me, and form that experience into words that I share, well, fine. We shall call it poetry.
Who judges the one in the arena? No, not me.
Self-conscious awareness kills the poet gasping for life inside of me.
Click "Save". Post. Live. Breathe.
Sabila Siddiqui Jul 2019
Like the sun my mind sets,
like the moon my heart comes in power
;
the emotion filled tides
rising and crashing.
Like a waterfall my emotions flow,
like a volcano words escape.

Suppressed emotions unveiled

letting words with no logic escape
for the words are true,

the emotions are pure

allowing the ones around me
to hear my secrets as they divulge
,
catch a glimpse of vulnerability , raw and honesty

that are veiled by the morning light.
Mary Velarde Jun 2019
In the dream i run toward dead ends
that resemble concrete fists;
and we know that ghosts can only walk through walls
because they’re empty
but you’ll find creases on your bed sheets
just as vacant.
And the impression people leave behind
is something you will always take to bed
when the little yellow-lit squares in
those tall city boxes meant more than just
“other”.
and so what if we feel too much?
they say one word can stand a chance
in changing an entire meaning
and so what if we feel too much, despite
— the coffee that had gotten cold
or the pillow-stitched manifestos
that were only ever meant for display
or the flimsy dots in the sky
we’ve yet to make sense of.
Your vulnerability is no one else’s
needle felt ball.
Do not hide it like baby teeth,
do not trim your sharp edges
for their butterknife.
Do not pick out
the quiet statice petals
just because you’ll never have to
worry about seeing the fracture
when you’re gazing down
at an entire field.
"why has empathy become a relic?", she asks.
"i guess that's just how it is now."
it shouldn't.
it shouldn't.
it shouldn't.
Kewayne Wadley May 2019
The next time we meet,
We will wait until dark
that way we can take the stars & dip them in chocolate
without need for milk.
Our memories becoming this more desirable,
This more delicious.
Just you & I
underneath a chocolate sky.
Counting the stars one by one as we take huge bites.
Lost in our own little world
Just you & I.
Vulnerable to the outside world
without a clue to why
our mouths are covered in chocolate
We'll crunch the stars like the world was ending.
The next time we meet,
We will wait until dark
that way we can take the stars & dip them in chocolate
without need for milk
StoryTallinn May 2019
Focusing on taking steps after steps
but forgetting to take a breath
Mimicing strength while my shield was rusting
I said I am fine too many times

I know this shell needed to break
So I could shine
This mask needed to fade away
So I could look at myself in the mirror

Admitting my vulnerability
and finding the chemistry of happiness
Admitting my ignorance
and finding the road to knowledge

Where there is room for improvement
There is space to grow
When things seem to collapse
Just an opportunity to start again
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