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A single Human, alone and weak,
is unable to comprehend  the insignificance of its life.
But as a whole, Humanity, we are unmeasurable, overwhelming
filling space and time with our vivid existance.
We consume all other entities with our devistating force.
Embodied in thousands upon thousands of infintesimal beings. Humans.
We must remember that it is the human that makes up humanity.
too tired to write
What's inside your heart,
Is a secret between you and God,
You hide your flaws from the world,
By wearing a mask of peace and love ,
Waiting to be understood by someone,
No one knows If you are crying,
But you can't hide it from yourself,
flaws  are  meant  to  make  you  perf­ect ,
God wants you to throw the mask away,
To let them see the real  you ,
Because for your God you are Perfect .
"Your flaws are perfect for the heart, meant to love you. "
You don't need to be perfect.
I feel most at home
when my pencil is hitting the paper
or my fingers are hitting the keys

I write to have a voice
a voice that screams to be heard
a voice that has been crying out
for so long

I am no longer willing to sit in silence
I deserve to be heard
and I'll scream until someone listens

My pain has been overlooked
my words have been belittled
my voice has been hushed

But not for any longer
I spent so many years in silence. I refuse to ever relive that time of my life again.
 Jan 2015 Tammy M Darby
SE Reimer
~

with instinctive
eye she finds
the hollow of the tree,
a place in magic steeped;
and with reach of heart
she lifts out
the stuff of sleepy dreams -
a rainbow-riding unicorn,
an elven-speaking gnome,
an angel in a hurricane.
each speaks to her in tone,
and though each is but a wisp
of what she’s dreamed and wished,
yet each is emblemic,
wholly authentic,
in thought is cathartic
and in mem’ry angelic.
for written words
are the whispers
that speak in the dark;
and poetry the blade
that tears open the heart;
but dreams...
these come from places
held deeply within,
from childhood fantasy
blended with memory;
these are hope’s grief,
tomorrow’s pain,
for answers through loss,
her innermost cry;
her soul searching again,
for it is she that we hear
weeping at night.

~

*post script.

blended thoughts inspired by two grieving mothers -
one’s post of a tree hollow discovered and
another's weeping as she packs up Christmas,
while listening to her lost son’s music.

wishing them each peace, answers that satisfy and... sleep.
 Jan 2015 Tammy M Darby
OA Agusto
Colour my eyes the brightest colour there is,
Paint my lips any colour you want,
Write poetry in place of my skin.
But don’t let anyone else read me.
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