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The nostalgia
A silent triumph in the chest
The electric 
Jaw clenching 
Prions
That keep me
Feasting on 
Yesteryear


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Reply by Lady_Legacy

posted

Yesteryear

A thought in passing 
A word forgotten
No time to think
Mountain Biking 


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Reply by Cesar

posted

No time to think
Mountain Biking 

quick, quickly
racing through the trail
i've got my suit and helmet
in the woods
near the ocean
on a sunday afternoon


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Reply by HΣX

posted


I've got my suit and helmet
But the rain still
Falls in every piece
And gets through to me

It's time to tread
Into the storm
And my sword is only
Transcendental


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Reply by Swampbaby

posted

Falls into every piece...


And becomes jagged.
A broken bottle
Feeling every wave
Waiting with infinite patience

To become 
Sea glass

Smoothed and torn
By the tides

An echoe of ebb

And yesterday 


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Reply by Cesar

posted
updated

and yesterday


things were still tough.
although today is better,
i can't help look back
at the time lost
in yesterday 


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Reply by Swampbaby

posted

Were still...



Placid as lake water Mid-July 
When the air pulls your limbs 
toward the ground
And every movement
Is effort
That you are not willing to give

Your skin feels the umber 
Of sunlight
And even the insects are silent




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Reply by Cesar

posted

*swamp, i dig that!



That you are not willing to give

That you are not willing to give,
all that i needed for you to give,
makes me enraged.

Enraged that I must take care of it myself
Fuckin shit

I know that this isn't going to work out. 


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Reply by Swampbaby

posted

*ty Cesar *


I must take care of myself...

Because I am
The carer 

And sometimes
Selfishness
Rears its head
Telling me I
Must be first
A
Trophy
Of gilded
Faithlessness

24 karat

Reflecting

The needs of others

Only worth

The gold

Painted on my edges

My care
Is a thrift store trinket
Waiting for a home


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Reply by cybercorewhore

posted

And sometimes selfishness is needed!

I've spent my whole life trying to make the rest of the world happy, instead of learning to be happy with myself.
I rip and tear, shred myself into pieces for the sake of others.
Bloody and battered I crawl through life and never give myself a break.
Sometimes being selfish is the most selfless thing you can do for yourself.


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Reply by Swampbaby

posted

Learning...



To speak to trees
Is a patient undertaking

They speak so slowly

And my thoughts fly by

So quickly

Learning to speak to the wind
Is so much easier

Every scream torn away

To be dissected

By the curve of the earth

I tried once
To talk to the river

It smothered me


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Reply by Cesar

posted

is a patient undertaking

to find my true calling

my true path

nevermind the


pain

confusion, eratic-ness, the out of control powerlessness of the day

the endless nights

the desperate moments ravaging for something

for what?

patience, and maybe i'll see. 


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Reply by Swampbaby

posted

Ravaging for something...


Or possibly just pillaging 

The thought of every passerby

As they plod through my view

I know they have their own lives
Dreams, hopes, hates, worries

But All I want

Is to make every stranger's story
A part of my own

An glance cast upward

And we look at the same clouds



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Reply by Cesar

posted

(but all I want)



but all I want is something better.

Something true          to me.

something to carry me through with enough excitement to help me forget

forget it all. 

forget today

forget yesterday

forget everything


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Reply by Swampbaby

posted

Something to carry me through

Conversation
 to pass the time
Education
So I know to rhyme
Salutation
To acknowledge
My existence

Creativity 
To make moments flow
A bit of levity
So my humor grows
Passivity
To lessen
My resistance





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Reply by Cesar

posted

creativity

to make moments flow...

...is the goal- to make moments flow, with creativity. 
To inspire and feel inspired.
To grow, to reach the heavens.

tonight, though
I'm in a rut

so i phone a friend
I take a break

and find creativity in... conversation

conversation?

it's art?

what's the goal? 

i choose the flow in life no matter what shape it takes-even if it's not 'art'

i choose the flow



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Reply by Swampbaby

posted

Conversation...it's an art...


One we respond to
As casual hobbiests 

The flow of words

Response
And echoe

Of the emotion we hear
In the voices 
Aimed toward us

And we take in words
Sentences
Thoughts
Ideas


We pull them into ourselves

And masticate

Chew down meaning 
And emotion

Until it is something 
We can digest

Regurgitate 
Combined with our own acids

And ask someone else 
To clean up off the floor


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Reply by Cesar

posted

and ask someone else


Should i do this or should i do that?

Does this make sense?

What do you think?

because, of course, 

I'm a bit- let's just say, not quite in my right mind. 


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Reply by Ghost_in_a_Jar

posted

I'm a bit- let's just say, not quite in my right mind.


It's like I'm sitting in a glass box,
Painting pictures on the walls.

I have every color
on every finger.
And it pours from my fingertips
to the glass canvas.

I create masterpiece after masterpiece
All while the world goes on around me.
I could stay here forever, really.
Here in my museum of color

But it always ends
When I realize I'm not in my glass box
I'm coming back to a conversation
that I forgot I was a part of


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Reply by Swampbaby

posted

Glass canvas


A brittle, shiny thing

(Life)

And I am careful

(Gentle)

Small, light strokes

(Creating)

Vibrant hues

(Loud)

And the fear

(Screaming)

That I will break it


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Reply by Cesar

posted

small, light strokes


inevitably turn in to longer stronger strokes.

but maybe, i'll stop.

i hear the tv on. 

the game.

the game is always is good. 

but so are long strong strokes. 


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Reply by Swampbaby

posted

Turn in to...



Seeds to trees,
Coal to diamonds,
Molehills to mountains

And the inevitable cliche

The Caterpillar turns into a butterfly

Fluttering 

Floating

Free

A plaything for kittens 
In gardens






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Reply by Blackbird (Dale Winslow)

posted

a word forgotten


compassion of language
a sudden echo 
in the hollow hold 
of humanity's ship
a virulent web
of broken dialect
held in ones and zeroes
stuttering in the hand
that has no form


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Reply by Swampbaby

posted

Broken Dialect...


A miscommunication
Error in translation

That halts her words

And makes me reconsider
Every 
Single
One
Of
Mine

A sinking trepidation
Pause in conversation

A bolus tightly formed

Of all the things I could say
Balled
And
Waiting
In
My 
Mind







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Reply by Blackbird (Dale Winslow)

posted

Pause, in conversation…

 

In the negative space

between what you meant

and what emerged,

I discover migrant concerns—

sudden mists of miscalculation.

 

(Darling, there is a shudder

in the timeline of our alliance.)

 

Stepping out of dimensional servitude,

we find in the extraordinary echo

of your kaleidoscope heart,

the capacity for green forgiveness.


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Reply by Swampbaby

posted

Capacity for green forgivness... 


The roots I cut from you
Dry and wither

Crisp and cryolate 
On frozen ground

But you grow

You reach out in 
Otherworldly
Turn the cheek

And anchor yourself

To the earth

Of tomorrow


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Reply by inactive

posted
updated

A stifled dance on frozen ground


treading steadily to not provoke, nor make a sound,

but to no avail, for spirits always break free,

and the steps begin - one, two, three...



A stage that threatens its beloved

with melodies of icy irony, but the dance proceeds, 

a routine oblivious to the woes of its "fan", once so avid,

nothing but acceptance for the peril it precedes.


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Reply by Cesar

posted

nothing but acceptance for the peril it precedes


was the first step

without acceptance he couldn't begin

although he tried

he tried- evidenced by his exhausted body

evidenced by the endless thinking, the endless anxieties,

the life changes

but nothing happened, really

until he accepted the perils of his past
as it were, he was running his wheels on mud while his mind only dreamed of the fantastic future he was to have


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Reply by Cesar

posted

as it were


he laid on his back thinking

resting, sort of...

actually, rest is needed

but first some glory

some life

some passion

one last spark of that something  that makes life worth living

if only he could have it all the time and carry it with him instead of having to clock in for work the next day


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Reply by Swampbaby

posted

Rest is needed....


A reply to 14 hour days
Where every bruise
Is 
Maybe
They just needed 
To get it off of their chest.
I mean
Honestly 

Wouldn't you

If they kept you 
Inside

Trapped 
Fenced
And
Pacing


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Reply by Cesar

posted

wouldn't you...

shout!?

wouldnt you scream!?

i mean who could bear such bullshit

time and again....



...until now




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Reply by Swampbaby

posted

Until now...


But maybe time isn't 
Exactly how percieved 

Maybe now

Is a memory 
10 years in the future

Maybe now

Is an ancestors 
Last breath

And maybe

Now

Is something 
You don't want to think about

So you focus

On storm clouds filling the horizon



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Reply by Cesar

posted


storm clouds...

in my head

expectations much?

control

and then the pain of the let down

was it she that let me down or was it i that let myself down chasing storm clouds in my mind in the first place?


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Reply by Swampbaby

posted

Tou can chase

Lightnining
Expect it
While Loking at slate skies

But electricity
Blooms
Everywhere

So be afraid 
Of grey momentum

But also 
Be aware

Of baby blue.
And high places

In the end

It is your magnetism 
That attracts
Electricity 


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Reply by Cesar

posted

baby blue


like soft kind skin

and soft pillowed skies.

life and the sweetness in moments,

the passion that carries me through life,

hopes for the future and dreams of my life.

am I a romantic or simply someone that is breathing


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Reply by Swampbaby

posted

Simply someone


With enough limbs
To imagine myself
A tree
Yearning for light

My roots
Upending cement

Creating 
My own space

In this 
Unrelenting
World





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Reply by DoomedIdeas

posted

With enough limbs

To imagine myself

reaching for safety.
no longer what i was, but
new enough to move on
"greener pastures", sure, but
the sky has always been my destination.

with enough limbs
to imagine myself
in flight.


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Reply by Swampbaby

posted

Always been my destination


A garbled 
White-diamoned sea

With sifted sand

That shifts with each ebbing tide

And the blues that hue
And weight me down
Like lead

With ought thought
With ought
Breath

With out
Weight 

In this seamless place

This has always been

My destination

The bottom 
The sinking sand

That pulls me into

Its self

And carries me down

To petrified 


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Reply by Poe_thetic_lie_sense

posted

In this seamless place,

it seems MySpace to replace
the master Face
Book.

Don't mistake; 
look.
You'll find the crook, 
Mark Zuckerberg 
(and Tucker, Zuck here's son)

It's run; it's won 
everything under the sun.
I hope it's done,
but Monday comes along
With a dire song,
and I don't know when the weekend comes
if it can be undone.


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Reply by haunter

posted
updated


a thought in passing, 
a thought of you. 
wondering how rough your skin is, 
if i'll ever be one to find that out. 

edit; aw man i was looking at it from oldest to newest my bad



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Reply by Cesar

posted

edit: aw man


i wish i could do it again
wish i could go back
and do it again
edit it

dang
aw, man

well

no use in pity parties

moving forward
charge ahead
maybe the junk past will help with living now


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Reply by Ryan

posted

"I wish I could do it again"; As if the universe were a singular construct with only one right answer. "I love you forever." Forever: A human construct. I love you until I'm sick of you, until I no longer feel desire for you, until daily life becomes mundane and I blame you for my unhappiness, until I find something else that peaks my interest, until the kids are grown, or until I die first; leaving you to wonder why you're still here.  Shall I blame God? Didn't I get all that I hoped and longed and dutifully prayed for; Or am I upset because they died first, and I'm still here?  Will I ever be ready?  "I wish I could do it all again". 


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Reply by The Feral Floozy

posted

Will I ever be ready?
Will I EVER be ready?

Will I ever be READY?

The only absolute is Death. 
Get a grip.
Grip it good.
Sigh and moan and spit and twist
Ahhhhhhhh

Quivering in ecstasy 
Alive but dead. 


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Reply by .ahmad-coltrain hayens

posted
updated

.get a grip, grip it good 

will i ever be ready?
will i every be better?
will i every be steady?
yesteryear.
came and went rather fast don't you say?
from being upset and confused
to adding masks to our normal costumes
it seems as though most of the year was just one,
really long day.



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Reply by Neli Keli

posted

Mountain biking

Thoughts so near
In this illusion
I fear


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Reply by Jiggy the Creative

posted

A silent triumph in the chest dissolves to dust, 

Unpolished and painted with rust, 
When it was said, it was done, 
The expectations could never be farther than one. 


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Reply by Swampbaby

posted

Unpolished...


Matte with rough edges
That jag
And scrape

Still a gem

Only 

Unfinished


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Reply by Cesar

posted
updated

unfinished


there's hope in being unfinished because if it were finished, then it be left sad and depressing.

but because it's unfinished, there's still time to turn it around, start anew, do something better, be better

so, go out and finish that which never ends....until, of course, u die. 


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Reply by Tobias

posted

(Until, of course, u die. )


Until, of course, you die.
"Until" you die
That what they all say,
as if it's something so far out of reach.
Humans and their infalliabilty.
Always thinking they'll have the last word
Nothing lasts forvever.
Now, you die.
We all do.
I'll finsh my life with my own words
Fully completed.
I promise.
                           - Pharus


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Reply by Nao

posted
updated

Hoping wishing cravig longing

I stare and i look and i guess all around me

I invade the souls around me nit picking them like a biology class

Making assumptions and comparing them to my idealism

The realism of it all being quite depressing maybe even desperate 

My vision cant stay still and my mind cant keep quiet im absorbing everything around me wandering wandering wandering in busy lands that arent mine to preoccupy 

Wondering and thinking. Assuming and guessing. Thinking and thinking and thinking.

Are they looking at me? Making assumptions and filling up the empty spaces in their minds with thoughts about me? Are they listening to my breathing, looking through my skin and entering my soul? Wanting to guess what type of person i am, wondering if i am worthy of them, worthy of being.


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Reply by lilyiffer

posted

The realism of it all being quite depressing maybe even desperate...


This is life

I exist only in the lives of few, and to be quite frank, I am unsure how many of those few that I like.
I will forever spend this life in drab misery, living a mediocre life, that will never amount to anything great. Though I do enjoy living simply, why can I not be great?
I here confess that in this lifetime, I will never do anything significant. 
And maybe that's okay.


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