%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |  Poems exploring whether or not we create our world, through reflections past and current . |
 Periods of personal upheaval, no matter the degrees of their importance, often make me wonder: Are we creating the world we live in, or to what extent is it predetermined based on the birth lottery we won/lost? How much of what we do is merely adapting, as opposed to building something new? I wanna use these ideas as the loose basis for this collection. I expect a lot of these pieces to be personal yet vague; real yet surreal. Dark at times, but hopeful. Odd and poignant. Disturbingly therapeutic. While I have no shortage of life experiences to mine content from, confronting them and filtering the thoughts and emotions will at times be difficult- not just for me, but occasionally for the reader as well. The goal for this project is to dig a little deeper into myself, using the momentum from my recent collections to cut new grooves into the framework, I suppose...and if it's readable, that's a bonus. Edit 11/2020: Are we living in a world created for us. or are we creating it as we go along? Is there an answer? I don't know if I know, or if I'm the one to consult on that. Comments, compliments, and feedback of all kinds- good or bad- are most certainly welcome. It's not just my journey; we're in this together.   Best Poetry Collection |
11-11-20 After all, what do we have to lose? We live limitless inside our limits; deceived into complacency and rich in what we think enrichens us. We're not not wrong, but we're also very wrong in playing along in groups and societies that try to angle our functions to their needs. And you know and I know we don't need those needs. Pack it in and unpack; keep only what you can carry. None of us is long for this world; even more if we continue longing. It wasn't built for us and what exactly are we trying to build, if not the same things? The end is only the means to more endings. And the beginning just leads to more questions we're yet to see. Me? I'm right here... but I'm not going anywhere. |
10-22-20 The entry was never intended on being an exit. You wanted this so much; don't cry when it's over if you couldn't be bothered when it began. Maintain yourself as a one-line drawing we can see through to not be you. See, I'm very concerned with the very concerned, and I watch you on a wire extended by the discontent you couldn't wait to get sick of or from. You can wish to your god it'll all be over, but you're missing the point that it's just begun. |
7-17-20 When you see the writing on the wall, what goes through your mind? There are words that can set you free if you know their meaning, or constrict you upon your feelings. Do you ever settle down, and take note of your surroundings in general? It's an unformed habit, uniform in its uncertainty. To find something first you must find out if you deserve to know what most words are talking about. It's ok to say no or maybe no, but they're telling you "I told you so!" Do you have an answer? Do you have an agenda that was planned for? Do you? In the war of you versus you, who are you fighting for? You've seen the writing on the wall, but how many times can you burn it down? Best Medium Length Poem, Free Verse |
6-21-20 Are you in the coroner's corner? With a face like a funeral you're reaching for the next day like you're glad it hasn't come for you. Trying to survive in the advents you subscribed to isn't always the calmest way to claim you're as American as systemic racism. You can't be looking ahead while holding on to a past that no longer exists. Either you're here in the now, or you've quit. What does it mean when someone dies? And what if it's your allies doing the killing? Are they still worth supporting? To each their own but I can't be a party to those who treat certain lives so disposably. I was taught life could be repairable. You love looking forward, away from the past and today. It turns you on but it's coming for you either way. |
3-19-20 He trims his beard with a lighter; clips his words like ransom notes. If everything is anything, he knows better than he hopes. shuttle shuttle shuttle Out comes one needle, and in goes another. He's not a savior if he finds the cure. He's just the happiness ever after. shuffle shuffle shuffle He's your tomorrow if you swallow pill after pills that hollow your sense and delights. You're stuck with you and him every night. stutter stutter stutter Shank every code you've known; those nodes no longer cast in stone. Even the air is up in the air. Throw your hands up like you don't care. mutter mutter mutter He's got a date with a test kit. He's the one who never gets it. Raise a toast to his insistence that he was never contagious. but he is but he is but he is If he is you and you are me, do you see why we're quarantined? It's easier to see when he's not among us that he's not just carrying; he's the virus. Best Medium Length Poem, Free Verse |
1-25-20 Some fear dying alone; I don't. I could wake up here, or not. Wouldn't matter if I had no words to say how I felt. I have them now and you don't notice at all. If I could take you to bed and leave, I wouldn't. I know I could tell you to leave even if I shouldn't. You can't hold your breath when you sleep; I tried. If I told you I did it anyway, would you... would you know I lied? I don't fear dying alone, as much as I do with you. Dying with you was something I never planned to do. If I could take you to bed and leave, I wouldn't. If I had the chance to wake you, I know I shouldn't. Every waking hour is a reminder that I'm not of your kind. There are days that go by where you're on the outskirts of my mind. My life is passing by and you're circling the roundabouts of my highway, waving hi. This isn't the life we planned. God damn. It's not a mere circumstance. It's how we landed. If I could take you to bed and leave, I should. You don't wanna die next to me as I die alone. |
12-17-19 livin' hard is hardly livin' How many tries can a backpack carry? How many lies does it take to please every person around with their minds made up that no matter what, I'm never enough? Let's try to get through this fluidly, as if this is the first time you're getting to know me. It's passively awkward, right? No wrongs or rights or end in sight; breathe and release. Tomorrow's another me. How many personas can one pair of Chucks deliver? More than one bears witness to at any given moment. You see it, you saw it, and now you're spent or bent on making that your impression. Are you satisfied with that intention? Have you fully dialed up your compression, or tried a simpler plan of investing time and patience in another person in your history to uncover? I don't run in my backpack and Chucks so much but I've abandoned giving fucks in situations unnecessary, in order to preserve my decency and independency. I still deliver what I consider standard wordplay for the clever and interested. Maybe I'm not who you think I am, but listen: I'm probably more if you sifted through these words I'm gifting to you. It's not like I'm expecting it though. in a time of cultural complacency the act of being yourself is revolutionary |
11-29-19 Do you know who you are? You don't need to. I see you and how you treat people. You're more than one of a kind. You're a kind. Not a "kind of..." but the noun of a verb in a world of hurts you never show your vulnerability to. And of everything else standing out that could be attached to you like labels or fables or constructions of somethings only seen out of everyone else's conveniences, you're not just kind, but a kind. Effortlessly. Nature uncondescending. You know you could be more, but to what detriment? You are. You already are. And that's enough, besides anything else you wish to be. I'm not sure where else to start or how to thank you, but I know you know it's just you and your default mode. Of all the kinds, one hundred thousand times, you're a kind unto your own, unmatched, more than you know. Best Long Poem, Free Verse |
| (via Leonard Cohen) 9-17-19 Everyone knows it as my fault, not yours and mine; your voice carries louder over my interpretations and lesser designs. I can’t name your names because there’re too many, and when I drink to forget you remind me of memories I know better than to hold on to. I can’t, but I can, even when they’re more the enemy that I wish to comprehend. You vested my suit and lies; tied up my goodbyes. We could say nothing and let’s just; rather than we tried. |
Awards
Badges
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Auto-Reward Items
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
