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baygls 4 lyfe Sep 2014
Like the bike you bought after saving lawn-mowing money for a year, welfare reform was the prized trophy of the conservative governing philosophy. We believed that we'd found the vehicle of social mobility for poor Americans, once and for all. No one should live on taxpayer money without doing some work on their own, right? Everyone agrees, right?

Wrong. President Obama ran over our bicycle, issuing illegal waivers to welfare's work requirements and taking the wheels off the program. The fact is, we never won the welfare battle after all. Out of the 80 different federal welfare programs, the '96 welfare reform really only fixed one. A third of the U.S. population received benefits from one or more of these 80 programs in 2011. According to the Department of Agriculture, one program alone – food stamps – gave benefits to a record-breaking 47.7 million in the last month of 2012, benefits those millions didn't have to work to receive.

Rep. Paul Ryan recently said it's time to use the 1996 reform as a model to fix the rest of welfare. He's right, for at least five compelling reasons.

1. America's welfare programs are redundant and inefficient. As The Heritage Foundation's welfare expert Rachel Sheffield noted, there are at least 12 separate programs providing food aid, 12 funding social services, and 12 assisting education. Average benefits from all welfare programs are about $9,000 per recipient. If you converted those programs to cash, it would be more than five times the amount needed to raise every household above the poverty line. We should streamline redundant programs to save money while getting the same or better value.

2. Means-tested welfare programs are fiscally unsustainable. These cost nearly $1 trillion annually. By the end of the decade, welfare spending will rise from five percent to six percent of GDP. This means every taxpaying family would have to make, and then give up, over $100,000 in the next ten years – just to cover the cost of welfare spending.

Imagine this: If government spending were a pie, welfare would be a bigger slice than defense, education, or even social security. This isn't apple pie a la mode. It's poison-the-economy pie with a side of swamp-our-children-in-debt ice cream.

3. The welfare state encourages dependence instead of lifting people out of poverty. Poverty has actually increased with federal spending on anti-poverty programs. Adjusted for inflation, we've spent nearly $20 trillion total on “the war on poverty.” That's more than the combined price tag of all America's wars. Ever. From the American Revolution through Afghanistan, we've spent less than $7 trillion. These days, we spend 13 times what we spent on welfare in the 1960s. Guess what? In 1966, the share of the population living below the poverty threshold was 14.7%; by 2011, that share rose to 15.0%.

This spending gives people significant incentives to stay on welfare. According to the Senate Budget Committee, if you break down welfare spending per household in poverty, recipients are making $30/hour. That's higher than the $25/hour median income – certainly more than what I make per hour.

4. Welfare dependence creates behavioral poverty. Perhaps President Franklin D. Roosevelt said it best: “Continued dependence upon relief induces a spiritual and moral disintegration fundamentally destructive to the national fibre. To dole out relief in this way is to administer a narcotic, a subtle destroyer of the human spirit.” To become comfortable relying on the work of others instead of your own work will change your character, and the character of the nation. Americans want to give everyone a helping hand, but hand-holding year after year, generation after generation, patronizes, corrodes, entraps. In the words of welfare policy experts Robert Rector and Jennifer Marshall writing in National Affairs:

Material poverty has been replaced by a far deeper “behavioral poverty” — a vicious cycle of ***** childbearing, social dysfunction, and welfare dependency in poor communities. Even as the welfare state has improved the material comfort of low-income Americans by transferring enormous financial resources to them, it has exacerbated these behavioral problems. The result has been the disintegration of the work ethic, family structure, and social fabric of large segments of the American population, which has in turn created a new dependency class.

Is this the America we want? It is not compassionate to leave a whole class of people in perpetual dependence. Behavioral poverty cuts off millions of citizens from a chance at American opportunity, destroying the virtues necessary to sustain oneself. My generation has seen the effects of behavioral poverty – in D.C., Detroit, or my hometown, Cleveland. Whole neighborhoods rot. To many, this cycle of dependence indicts the principles of American society as inherently unfair.

5. Work requirements promote individual responsibility and reduce poverty. Temporary Assistance for Needy Families (TANF) work requirements slashed welfare caseloads by nearly 60 percent. Poverty among all single mothers fell 30 percent. About 3 million fewer children lived in poverty in 2003 than in 1995.
Because I am not a lying sack of ****, I got my info from spectator.org
So Dreamy Sep 2017
Salam hangat untuk pembaca yang terhormat,

Apa kamu tahu apa yang lebih cerdas dari berada di tengah-tengah dan jadi pengamat sebelum benar-benar memihak? Atau, apa menurutmu tindakan itu bukanlah tindakan yang akan dilakukan oleh orang-orang intelektual yang sesungguhnya? Apakah menurutmu itu adalah tindakan orang-orang bodoh yang tidak peduli atau orang-orang pemikir yang berhati-hati?
Kakekku menyisipkan kata ‘median’ pada nama awalku dan ia jadikan kata itu sebagai nama kecilku, juga nama panggilanku. Di antara nama lengkapku yang berbunyi, Mediana Prawirahardja, kata yang diartikan sebagai nilai tengah itu ia tetapkan sebagai nama panggilan untukku. Harapannya adalah agar aku akan memiliki sifat yang sama dengan kata itu. Berada di tengah. Netral. Damai. Berada di tengah  dan menilai, atau berada di tengah dan memiliki nilai.
Nama adalah doa dan lama-kelamaan, aku mulai lelah menjadi pengamat yang hanya bisa menyaksikan dan mencari-cari kebenaran yang belum terungkap di antara hiruk-pikuk masyarakat yang hilir-mudik penuh hingar-bingar ini, di balik dunia yang berantakan ini.
(bersambung.)
‘Good morning’ the big toothbrush greets the little toothbrush.
There is no sign of there being an answer or even a glance.
‘Whats wrong with you ?’

“I’m ill” says little toothbrush, “too many foreign objects in my yellow hairs. evil saliva of a person got stuck last night. my owner is drunk again”

Big tooth brush approaches with pity : ‘In fact I also dont feel well. My owner didn’t use me  last night, but when he was in front of me washing a whorl of brown hair roots growing on the crown of his head, my eyes were glued to the red scratch around his face, neck and chest. He tossed around all night gasing at the mirror all the time-smiling and rolling his eyes, it can be assured that he is almost crazy’.

“That matter-you’ve often spoke of it to me. Your owner is not crazy, there is a spark of love trying to orbit the wrong planet.  Imagine, what would happen if my owner knew what lay beneath your owner’s pockets. There would be  furious hair pulling flinging here slinging there stabbing here. After which, your owner would become gossip for my owner’s friends”.

‘How would you know ?’ responds the big toothbrush.’ you’re perched here all day-how would you know your owner’s boasting ?’

“What I uttered before is almost definite analysis. My owner often talks to me when she has finished with all her insults and abuse. Satisfying her hunger seeing your owner’s newly wounded heart” the little toothbrush’s breath begins to clear the fog on the bathroom mirror. Its handle becomes drowsy.

‘No use, no use’ says big toothbrush disparaging., ‘ never another new wound because his peck has long rotten and the rot has long stuck out. As a result, it is those  distractions with a self-set-price that he chases almost every second. There is a third woman between them. This is secret’ the big toothbrush recoils its blue hairs.
(little toothbrush is prepared)

“After what you’ve pronounced-what do secret mean? who’s keeping secrets from who ? my owner also has two men. they meet at the cafeteria in the heart of the city. Problem is, I smell double –dalliance. This is a dangerous startegy”


‘You’re right. this irony is leading to a point of chaos. we must run before flames start leaping’, says big toothbrush. ‘ before my owner and your owner purge the flicker of their hearts and begin pulling hairs’

“ But i’m afraid” whispers little toothbrush, “ and I’m also sick. why is there another man’s saliva in my yellow hairs. I’m embarrassed”

‘I’m also tired. There’s no other way but to run looking for other heads that perhaps contain consciousness. Listen, I say CONSCIOUSNESS – not a shaped object but function’

Big toothbrush ushers his friend down from the bathroom running
for the fence of the wide courtyard that is bigger than 1 hectare.
An hour later the explosion of a derringer is followed by the shriek of an AK-47 and sirens sing accompanying the toothbrush owners to the emergency ward.

(Two toothbrushes spy from
the road median
under the queen –of-the-night)

In total there are four deadbeat generals-
their bodies shriveled smelling of soot
xtyenia Jul 2012
Strange insecurity
overflowing backwashing traitors
skilled by entities
willing to viciously ******
massively diminish minds
whom without say-accept
what's to be overturned
Jade Louise Apr 2015
He's singing a song with his eyes
And everyone can hear it

People sit with their heads down
Facing the red light
Ignoring the loudest sound a human can hear
Silence

Trying to ignore the loudest vision we see
The man on the median
Without a home

And he's singing a song with his eyes
And everyone can hear it

The red light has paused us
Forcing us to stop
Some of us try to continue our motion
Through our phones or radio
But something has stopped

Some of us are angry
Feeling that he’s taking advantage of the pause
Filling the pause
And the silence
With a picture
Framed by our window
That we didn’t ask for
But he exists whether we see him or not

The column of traffic
Before the left turn
Is filled with empathy, resentment, and judgment
all at once
The feelings running into each other
Like waves of water
Sloshing between the cars

“Being homeless is a choice”
“He didn’t ask to be homeless”

And he's singing a song with his eyes
And everyone can hear it

He used to have a home
He lived in wealth

And sitting in one of the cars before the red light
Is a man that used to be without a home

But the man on the median is happier somehow
Not all men on medians are happy
But somehow
He is
How strange

He disturbs us because he is one of us
A fellow human
Living in a way we aren’t


~ JL
BR May 2018
Did you know that if you leave your car in your driveway,
With the keys in the ignition,
And someone sits down in the front seat like they own it, and drives away,
You are the one who is liable for theft?
They can drive that sucker to the coast.
They can burn the upholstery with their cigarettes. They can bring their friends into the back seat, and fill the compartments with their refuse, and ****, and they can leave it ruined in front of your house, or crushed into the median on the highway, or left in disconnected pieces under an overpass.
It will be called, “unauthorized use of a vehicle.”
It will be called a “misdemeanor.”
But you left the car running.
Weren't you kind of asking for it to happen?

They said,
This,
(Gesturing to the skirt which fell to two inches
above my kneecap),
Is like that.

If I walk outside of my house in jeans and a t-shirt, or a long dress with thin straps,
Or with my chin tilted out,
Or with long eyelashes,
Or with full lips,
Or with my hips swaying when I walk,

It's like I left the car running.

It's like I invited them to force their bodies into the front seat.
In their minds, or with their hands, or with their lips to anyone who would listen to them.

Little girls in leotards become like unlocked car doors;
Where men can burn their cigarettes into their skin,
Or stick their fingers in
In plain view of their parents,
And told to let it happen,
Quietly.
It isn't theft,
It's “a medical examination.”

What did they expect?
It isn't a theft.
She was just as guilty of negligence.
It isn't really a felony.
It's not THAT BAD. (Stop being so dramatic.)
It's the unauthorized use of your body, for a time, or one night,
or every time you close your eyes for the rest of your life,

Sure-

But you left the car running.
Frieda P Oct 2013
You want to read little pristine pretty posies
not get involved betwixt & ignore the thorns of life
whatcha gonna do when your scratch becomes infected
hiding in the bushes of denial will get you hives
of the contradicting type, bucking like a bronco
amidst the flowery storm clouds of refusal
riding through wild fields of four leaf clovers
on unicorns wings of phantasmal puff'd perfectly pink skies
pseudo fairy tales conjured up in the mind
never to cross the median line of reality's mock deception
swallow the chimerical pill of inauthentic utopia
just be sure your mythical allegory never plays havoc
in your secret garden of rainbow streaming sublimity,
the fall is greater from the zenith of repudiation
"You cannot hide yourself behind a fairytale forever..."
Deborah Downes Sep 2016
Fever-flushed children and
Broken bodies
Litter hospital halls like so much
Human refuse
….Wondering why
their need for care is treated so tepidly by a
Society which worships
Profits
Power and
Prestige
….Waiting while
they wallow in anguish as
Privacy
Paperwork and
Payment are
Debated by bureaucrats in cubicles
….Wanting to be refreshed and
restored to some measure of usefulness
….But
Free to Pursue Life on their terms in exchange for  
Silence
Acceptance and
Despair

Huddling for warmth and in
Fear of discovery
they assemble in rag-tag formation
having scaled formidable fences
Seeking freedom from
Poverty and oppression
Searching for work of any sort
….No matter how
Humiliating or
Hard
….No matter the
Cost or
Conditions
Disparaged and despised they labor
in hope that their children will have a chance for success
instead of suffering a similar fate
…..But
Free to Pursue Liberty
in a land where their presence is
Ignored if not Denied

Unkempt in camouflage
One-legged and
Vacant-eyed
he rolls his rickety wheelchair along grassy median with muted effort
displaying cardboard sign
childishly scripted
in one weather-worn and gnarled hand
while clutching a decapitated jug in the other
Forgotten
Forlorn, and
Discarded veteran
Victimized far more by country than foe
….But
Free to Pursue Happiness while
Begging on street corners as
Upright citizens dispense
Unwelcome opinions or
Pocket change with equal
Self-righteousness


Life
Liberty and the
Pursuit of happiness….
Ideals that slowly incinerate on the
Altar of Capitalism
….Songs forever lost in the
Cacophony now
Played on the
Instrument of Politics
Matt May 2015
I walk to the gym
Because I don't have enough money
To drive there

Walkin' to the gym
Exercising before I get there
The walk is the warm up

I may stop and sit on the grass median
Underneath a tree to meditate on the way back
i was short the cash needed
for next semesters tuition

i was outta options
so i swallowed my pride
and called my father

i had’nt seen him
for a least eight years
i was busy nursing
sweet regrets
extending a prolonged
illness of resent

Halloween 1977
i borrowed my
girlfriends VW
and drove down
to Union to reunite
with Dad

his secretary
ushered me
into his C Level
office and I was
struck by
the angelic
portrait of
my half sister
adorning the
space above
his head

we shook hands
and i sat on a
chair in front of
his desk. it was
an awkward
moment of
small talk, relieved
by the passing
of a $400 check
into my just
stewardship

my father suggested
we head to lunch
where we would break
bread together for
the first time in years

it would also present
opportunities to
swallow the misgiven
years with draughts
of gin and tonics

by this time my
father was a
professional drinking
champion, quaffing
down the ***** to
drown his own
considerable
misgivings

as a young
virile turk
meeting with
his father for
the first time
in years, i was
determined
to match his skill
mano a mano

it was a foolhardy
endeavor but my
intrepidness was
unfazed as i matched
round for round
proclaiming my
arrival into
manhood

leaving the restaurant
my father suggested
we resume our drinking
at a local dive

there the velocity
of rounds accelerated
the drinking spinning
faster than the
emotions swimming
around my head

but I was determined
to prove my manhood
standing toe to toe
with my lost father
proving i was his
equal in the
endeavors
of men

don’t remember how many
rounds we downed but
it was a considerable
amount of ***** consumed

next we headed
to his friends
pizza parlor
where he could
present his long
lost son

we spoke of
my wonderful
girlfriend, and
my father suggested
i go get her so we
could all meet

he flipped me the keys
to his company car
a brand new
Ford LTD Wagon

man I was riding high
styling, livin life large
rolling up the GSP
headin to Montvale
to fetch my princess
in a royal carriage

when i got to
her house my
girlfriend and her
mother expressed
concerns about
my condition

i suavely made
the case that i was ok
to make the 40
mile trek to meet
back up with
my father

it was after all a
special occasion
an opportunity
to present my girl
to my newly
found dad

so off we went
back to Union
the drive was going
well best as i can
remember; though my
girlfriend was uneasy
as i swerved down
the parkway

in East Orange
the traffic got heavy
we were in the flow
following a station
wagon filled with
kids

my eyelids were
getting heavy
and I clipped
the railroad tie
median barrier
with the cars rear end

the wagon went into a
wobbling swerve
i fought to control
but could not

i remember my
last words
in my head
“Jesus save us”
and fell onto
the lap of my girl

the crash, the spin
the resounding din
thundered into
my last bit of
consciousness
like a tragic
Stravinsky lullaby
screaming me
to sleep

my aching head
blinked awake in
a dim lit hospital
in the wee hours of
All Saints Day

unsure where
I was but realizing
why i was there
I ardently questioned
a dismissive nurse
if any children
were hurt
and where my
girlfriend had gone

she adamantly
refused to answer
my urgent fear filled
questions; stating I had
been asking these
same questions all night

thinking about
the children
playing in the back
of the car
and my missing
girlfriend filled
me with a
shocking
dread, a
trembling
terror of what
my drinking
hath wrought

Halloween 1977
was a night filled
with frightening
realizations of
unresolved
unanswered
questions

it would be
another three
decades before
i commenced
a search to
answer these
frightening
questions
in earnest

Happy Halloween

Pat Metheny Group:
Are You Going With Me?

Oakland
10/31/13
jbm
Sean Yessayan Apr 2012
Red and white yin-yang,
Angels and Demons pass by,
Highway median.
It’s never easy
starting midstream,
when your joints squeak like old vinyl.

Worse to end just as you begin,
editing hope into bullet points,
buffing your portfolio like a coffin lid.
You kneel to metadata while the holy algorithm decides
if you're human enough to be blessed.

Better to read old Nabokov,
nap in your robe
(the good one with pockets),
wait for the mail like it’s 1998
when catalogs still mattered.
Let purpose dissolve, like the vitamin
you dropped in the sink.

You failed to fail,
which sounds noble
but feels more like
accidentally surviving.

So drift toward the grocery by the newsstand,
nod to the pretty barista with the knife-edge bangs,
pretend the papayas mean something.

You’re the median of middle-aged.
Your knees, both traitors.
Your dreams, reruns.

These lines limp
like your fifth attempt
to rebrand the layoff as a sabbatical.
Don’t derail, just project
your better self on a screen.
Crop the hair, dim the lighting,
hide the existential dread
behind a well-placed emoji.

Let rhyme stutter
like a pull-string toy,
half-broken,
slightly too cheerful.
Feet unsure, eyes fogged
(by pollen, by memory, by news).

There’s no noir here,
no brooding detective,
no dame worth lighting a cigarette for.

Just this:
the echo of effort,
forms half-filled,
where even your name looks uncertain.

So let’s call it.
Let’s bury the draft,
archive the ambition,
delete the app.

End
where we never really
began.
The Algorithm Regrets to Inform You
To fit well
into this scheme,
my slice of hell --
my wasted dream.

Never fit
the social stencil --
messy colors,
lines in pencil.

Could not see
that I was strange,
nor feel free
within their cage.

On the fringes,
binary fear
oft impinges
upon the queer.

No context,
bridge, or adapter:
gender/***,
and person after.

Categories
supersede
humanity
in word and deed.

Life between
the lines, beyond
median, mean,
and mode is odd.

On the fringes,
binary fear
oft impinges
upon the queer.
It gets better.
There is a Middle Road between all Worlds
I know this to be Truth
I have always seen it, glimpsed like a shadow in the corner of my Eye
Everywhere I have ever Looked
Everywhere I have ever Been
Everywhere
I have always felt myself to be
Known my Self to be
Standing to one side or the other of this Lost and Delicate Way
Skipping between the Extremes, always
Too High
or Too Low
too Hard or
too Soft
too Strong or too Weak
Too Much
or Never Enough
a Life Exhausted, leaping Across the Divide
from Mountaintop to Mountaintop
Seeking in vain the peaceful Valley on the Horizon
Always in The Distance
always Almost
never Now
Until
Until
until

until I collapse
until I cannot Go Any Further
until I finally Let Go
and Let My Self Fall
and Slide down the Mountain
because there is Nothing Left for me to do
but Lie Down
and Be Still
and Rest
Eyes Wide to the Sky
along the Middle Road
Naomi Zabasajja Jul 2014
Let me ask the question that I've wondered for what seems like centuries.
Let me know.
What exactly is the ******* point?
What drives you to turn emotional "love"
Into physical "love"?
I have been constantly dissatisfied.
Endlessly unamused.
Forever jaded.
To the point that I can't imagine the notion of this ******* being even minutely beautiful.
Or even worthy of being the median of which love is concocted.
**** it.
I don't want to understand.
Nicholas Harris Dec 2012
Welcome to 4 A.M.

Where almost nothing ever happens and the universe sits mostly still, where indie music is life and where photography is heaven. Where silence is golden and life is absolute. Where we all wish to be, and where only a select few of us can go and handle it.

Welcome to 4 A.M.

Where we lie in limbo, waiting for the sun to come up, the moon to go down, the median between life and whats left of the dark decay of lifelessness. Where Your eyes open wide, where your thoughts wander into the void of the infinite. Where we wait to see the beginning, the middle, and the end.

Welcome to 4 A.M.

Welcome to the dead, the living, the mourning, the crying, the sad, the happy, the over energetic, the under enthusiastic, the over enthusiastic, the insomniac, the insane, the beautiful, the quiet, the peaceful, the thoughtless and thoughtful, the kind, the caring, the listeners, the wonderful and magnificent, the open minded and wide eyed sleepless.

Welcome to 4 A.M.

Where we wander, searching for answers in our sleep. Where we wait for contact and a view into what we think is the future, and where here, we wait for the future. Where we sleep only to be dreaming of our answers we are searching for and never getting the full answer to questions like-
"Who am I?"
"What am I?"
"Who do I love?"
"Who loves me?"
"Why am I here?"
"What awaits me today?"
"Who thinks of me?"
"Who are my friends?"
"Who are my foes?"
"Who are the friendless?"
"Who am I to judge someone?"
"Who are they to judge me?"
"What is left for there to question if I already know the answers to my questions?"

This is what we ask, and wait for...

Welcome to 4 A.M.

Where our mindless infinite, grows! To be ever infinite into the oblivion of exaggerated proportions and ridiculous time! Where everything meets the beginning, the middle and the end. Where life dies, starts, and lives once more for us as humanity to enjoy through one more day, for us to catch our breath, and to breathe the dead and living. For our eyes to capture the very beauty of life through blinking as if our eyes where the lens to a camera and our brains the film to feed it.

All in one quiet, peaceful, beautiful, and insane, hour. Everything lives, dies, and starts over again.

Welcome to the beginning, the middle, and the end.
Welcome to 4 A.M.
Welcome to life.

Good morning.
If all a top physicist knows
About the Truth be true,
Then, for all the so-and-so's,
Futility and grime,
Our common world contains,
We have a better time
Than the Greater Nebulae do,
Or the atoms in our brains.

Marriage is rarely bliss
But, surely it would be worse
As particles to pelt
At thousands of miles per sec
About a universe
Wherein a lover's kiss
Would either not be felt
Or break the loved one's neck.

Though the face at which I stare
While shaving it be cruel
For, year after year, it repels
An ageing suitor, it has,
Thank God, sufficient mass
To be altogether there,
Not an indeterminate gruel
Which is partly somewhere else.

Our eyes prefer to suppose
That a habitable place
Has a geocentric view,
That architects enclose
A quiet Euclidian space:
Exploded myths - but who
Could feel at home astraddle
An ever expanding saddle?

This passion of our kind
For the process of finding out
Is a fact one can hardly doubt,
But I would rejoice in it more
If I knew more clearly what
We wanted the knowledge for,
Felt certain still that the mind
Is free to know or not.

It has chosen once, it seems,
And whether our concern
For magnitude's extremes
Really become a creature
Who comes in a median size,
Or politicizing Nature
Be altogether wise,
Is something we shall learn.
TheSharpiePoet Apr 2016
She Shoots Me Towards 

the Reaches of the Atmosphere.

(narcotic)

She Bravely Descends Earthward 

from the Divine Empyreal. 

(superhero)

Not Unlike a Hypodermic Needle 

Piercing My Median Cubital Vein,

(narcotic)

She Flashes into My Heart 

in Scarcely Eight Seconds.

(superhero)

Besides Inducing Euphoria,

She Effectuates Toxicity;

(narcotic)

In Fewer than Ten Minutes, 

She Targets My Defenses.

(superhero)

She not only Provokes Peak High,

(narcotic)

She Destroys a Lifetime of Yearning.

(superhero)

She is My ******. (narcotic)

She is My Heroine. (superhero)

~ The Sharpie Poet
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2013
Phantom Fierce Pierce

For Sally

Do have the courage of fear?
What!
You heard me.
Admit that we are all inhabited,
Admit that we are all inhibited.

Fear, the eleventh plague visited upon the Egyptians,
Nothing more paralyzingly complete.
Walking down an average day, an average street,
A median day, a medium day that a
Black disease from whence unknown,
And you are a froze shadowed chalk figure
Drawn upon the concrete, unable to move.

What would you pay, anything,
What would you give, everything,
Cleanse it all
Cut out the incisions
That with precision
Haunt your every
Waking and sleeping moment.
The deeds that did not get done,
The deeds that cannot get undone,
Both your undoing.

A plague on both, a plague on me,
My plague, unique to me,
Free me from this whatever the cost.

But it can't be arranged.
No devil to sell back the things
Of which you are ashamed,
No stain stick extant to guarantee success.

When the hollow is so great
You feel non-existent.

But you do not see what I see...
Courage, raw and plain, admits
These phantoms are not phantoms at all.

Those figures try to break you.
There is a beach, a path, where you know,
Safety.

Not easy to get there. The bus schedule unpublished.
But the bus line exists.
And you have the courage to wait, patiently
Until it arrives.

There is value here, if you read between the dashes
And the dots.

I see you for who you are.
You are the phantom fiercer piercer.

Shown us the way.
Please read Phantom Fears by Sally A Bayan.
Left Foot Poet Nov 2014
I am I am
just average,
just
just

if the world
was but average,
average
just

then the median
would be the message ,
the high and the low,
the uncommon just,
the common denominator

this circular world then,
just a plane
with no human stupid thickness,
neither halted or divided,
no above or below,
all of us
upon it
exactly the at the sane level,
possessing only
the wit of
width and depth
the promise of
of being just
just

just what a wonderful world this would be
11-1-14
Sam Cooke "Don't Know Much About History"

Don't know much about history
Don't know much biology
Don't know much about science book
Don't know much about the French I took

But I do know that I love you
And I know that if you love me too
What a wonderful world this would be

Don't know much geography
Don't know much trigonometry
Don't know much about algebra
Don't know what a slide rule is for

But I know that one and one is two
And if this one could be with you
What a wonderful this would be

I don't claim to be an 'A' student
But I'm trying to be
Maybe my being an 'A' student baby
I can win your love for me

Don't know much about history
Don't know much biology
Don't know much about science book
Don't know much about the French I took

But I do know that I love you
And I know that if you love me too
What a wonderful world this would be

But I know that one and one is two
And if this one could be with you
What a wonderful this would be
Read more at http://www.songlyrics.com/sam-cooke/don-t-know-much-about-history-lyrics/#ZC2pkQMxz5xqCowj.99
Alexander S May 2010
There is a man
Sitting in the grassy buffer
Between the gas station
And the road
Watching the busy intersection
I wonder what he sees
As car after car rushes through
I wonder what he's looking for
As we all pass him by
He looks kind of odd
Sitting there alone
I think he's the one who's
Got it all figured out
Saw it on the way to work
AfterImage Sep 2016
I am a person of almost and kind of.
I am a shadow of what I was
Hidden in the darkness of a past
Cast down by the light of the future.
This present of in-betweens
The liminal space in which I exist.
The here and there on the journey ahead.
I am the line between the points
The mystery before the solution
I am the median, the average, the midway
I am incomplete.
Pieces of a whole
unable to form the big picture.
This limbo of emotions
The neutral of positive and negative
Inactive, inert, insufficient.
This heart filled with grey
Longing to see through rose colored lenses
Paint my world with emotion.
Trade the silence for music.
To fit in the missing pieces.
But almost doesn’t offer solutions
And kind of doesn’t capture the horizon.
Nicole Dawn May 2015
Just once,
I'd like to be normal,
Average.

Or the median,
Mode,
Or range.
I'm not picky.

Too smart for my own good,
But actually stupid.

Too clumsy to play a sport,
Yet I play anyway.

Either the pliable,
Gullible,
Easy to mess with nerd.

Or the weak link,
On the basketball team.

Is fitting in,
Just once,
Too much to ask for?

Is one real friend,
That big of a request?

Is knowing what to say,
Really that hard?

Is being pretty,
Too big a wish to grant?

Why can't I be normal,
For once in my life?
I've never been normal
Norman Crane Feb 2021
I am the empty space between the highways,
Abandoned strip of indirection,
Subsisting on passers-by's throw-away
food and emotions / Civic midsection /
I am a buffer / I lead nowhere and
no roads leads to me / I am the empty
nest of a bird long flown to the wetlands /
I am everyone's, cared for by the city,
I am where the bodies are buried
sometimes / I am where teenagers get high,
The lake of grass from which Charon ferries
you and your people to the other side,
I am where tall grasses sway at midnight,
Snowplowsand. Cars pass. Hourglass headlights.

— The End —