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gym, health, science classes fill with that unforgettable stench of used textbooks craterfaces and jockies everyone with the same yet different growing and changing none like the other
Gravity, Gravity, Is there something you aren’t telling me? Constantly pulling me in, Never pushing me out to go farther than I’ve ever been,  But instead drawing me closer for eternity.  Gravity, Gravity, 
The End of the tunnel, What this holds is my own glimpse of loop, A lamp full of treacherous flow, Reminding us all our repetitive deeds, 
Poems are confusing  Their purposes disguised Seemingly blunt yet concealing  A plausibly traumatic demise Whomever shall find these creatures appealing
Many can say that Poetry is a simple concept However, they probably don’t understand that it’s difficult  to create a piece of literature with technique, symbolism, and depth
Two parts of one whole without precieving is to be understood without ever seeing just what makes you tick in this joyous of cycles which man has revered since time came to birth
she was looking at us with her eyes closed
She watches the clock, She hates to be timed. Yet she loves the pressure of a short notice. She learned not to be hesitant after her many setbacks. She's be told of her potential, pst, like she didn't know,
I stand atop this mountain, many souls in sight I try to converse at the fountain, they vanish into the light Crowded with loneliness and filled with mistrust  I begin to accept it now, empty with dust
I stand atop this mountain, many souls in sight I try to converse at the fountain, they vanish into the light Crowded with loneliness and filled with mistrust  I begin to accept it now, empty with dust
Freedom is not a word, Is is not an emotional state. It is a beautiful bird that cannot be caged. There are many that will try to take it away. They will burn it, humiliate it--and they'll even make it cry.
I look in the mirror and I like what I see.   Curves. Muscle. A smile. Scars. A rib cage, with a beating heart beneath it. A head,
Look past the outskirts of the town of stray men Where none think to trod A black wall caging in the livestock All together lost within an arbitrary boundary   Run blindly past the seam of shadow and light
All come into the world in the same way We spend nine months in warm darkness Then when it is time we are cast away Into the cold bright sharpness
Enlightenment is Found through the expression of One's self, uncontained
I am a man, An American man of African and Hispanic descent, Our forefathers and foremothers frequencies suggest they are turning circles in their graves and pits. They dreamt of freedom and we enslave ourselves,
Do you see me? I do not need the sun. I like the night. Do you see them? They do not need the sun. They like the stars. One day when there is only night, I shall be the sun. I am the chosen one.
If god is real, then why not the Zeus? From retarded apes, we have diverged. From near extinction, we have profused. Our mental growth has been induced; Yet irrational thought has come merged.  
The moment we breathe in the gases of toxicity and evil We slooooowwww down   That moment You recognize to whiff the pure, brush away the miasma,  and to obtain truth.  
 The rays from the sun hits the earth’s surfaceGiving animals and plants heat, it is nature’s furnace.Many strain to reach the desired lightBut one flower finds it too bright.The Casablanca Lily makes her appearance in the darkThe pale full moon i
      Darkness Is when all your senses Are barred behind a high stone-walled mentality   Darkness Is when your conscience Is unaware of reality   Darkness
Fuck. ... ... ... Might as well start this With my best foot forward. Do you want the story? Emotional exploring? A lot has happened In the last 20 years. ... ... ... Relatively so.
The Devil is trying to knock me down The Devil is intimidated by my mental But God says I’m the talk of the town There is something about me that’s elemental
Wabi-Sabi, not the sauce, the beauty inside me.
If I write something on the internet and I don't share it with you, Mind your own damn business. Thanks. If I didn't ask for your opinion, 
No filter on this outgoing personality.  I want to make friends with everyone and have tons of fun.  No filter on my past.
You know its funny: life Im 17 and dont know anythig about it one time i  wanted to end it wih a knife but now i love it wth out a dobt Im learning all of my flaws the beautiful ones 
The world describes using filters and wearing makeup as a way to hide our true selves from the world
I feel so alone.    Broken.    Constantly removed from all that's shown.    Solitary. Confined.    My words go unspoken.   
   I am who I am.
When I look in the mirror, I see what I see, my desires have driven me to blind true reality. How can I tell if my soul has progressed?
There once were cows who left th
Be not afraid Stop running away Face the dangers that they throw I've been thinking lately Those who changed the world were crazy Break the shackles off of your soul, and start seeing with your INDIGO
I feel as if there is no place for me. So it seems that everything I want is a falacy. In this world we live in full of lies, I despise- I freed my mind and I stopped dreaming.
A cold breeze.  A silent hum in the air.  A breath slowly fills my lungs.  Happiness fills my soul.  Long hours in a quiet room.  I finally escape the chaos that life has created.  The leaves fall on the ground and I let it all go.
A strong grip on my spear of light,
This poem is for the people who have put me in a box. They have said: “Here you may come, and no further!” I have been categorized.  
Eyes closed, though even so seeing that which is so beautifully, magnificently whole. Rising from raised arch,
I see you
Gentle rolling was heard past the paper thin walls.
 I dare to evoke emotionsunspoken ofout of sheer unclearness
Held firmly Tilted toward the shadows The room is illuminated The empty corners Fill with a brilliance  
Glowing, azure sky... Under this we jubilate... Paradise is here.    
Far away is a place
Far away is a place
The sun is shining so far above
Leaving my years behind in this high-school-like prison, filled me with nothing more than sheer joy. It's as if I'll awaken from my dream and learn that I was merely a psychic playing with her toy.
I don't own a lot of things all i have are these set of strings i played my way through the southern streams
Each day, I walk around Looking up and looking down Up at the sunset, with it's vivid colors Down at the cement, With gum and painted numbers' Sometimes, I look forward and behind
A silver sound encroaches near, Bereft of gall and fate and fear,
  A placing a plate of cookies and glass of warm milk for Santa On the dining room table was a waste of time At least I got to witness my father gobble it down
If blessed are the forgetful, then what of those who remember? I seem to never forget even the most painful details, Every word, face, smell and feeling Linger in my mind just waiting to come back.
Its marks are left As the future turns into past And the past becomes all but memory. It can be found wearing The gold paint of its author. To every page turned Its sweet, silent voice
Are you comfortable enough that even long pauses- seem complete?
Oh sun, Oh sun How he does rise To watch the cheerful play, See him illuminate the skies, And hide before each day, Oh sun, oh sun What warmth he brings, To ever leaf and flower,
Would I choose you again After knowing what I know now? Would I stay around Knowing you bring me down?   I am a poison to you And you to me. Yet somehow, We make each other complete.
numbness is what I feel most when I am alone. tears rarely streak across the flecked cream of my shell in solitude all the while
The sun rises rises in my soul. The rays dance and  explodelike lyrics hitting the ear. I am the song. Illusionsshatter like glass. I morph into a dazzling tapestry of shadow and  light. Thesetting sun no longer reminds me of death.
Why don't you paint me like I am? Dancing and singing Full of life Always looking for adventure, never looking for trouble With close family and friends by my side Why don't you paint me Like I am
If you don’t feel very happy, or if you just feel sad at this moment, I want you to go outside and stand there for a very long while and try to comprehend the fact that you are rare enough to be
I could say I write because it is an outlet, a way to release anger from a broken past and broken family. I could say I write because my mom was not there, because sometimes I write to convince myself that I don't hate her.
Listen insideMake all your feelings rhymeBare this heartand you tear right and wrong apart Behind jealous eyesunloved souls cry;lie snared, awaitfor arid gardens to reciprocate
You've been lied to about poems You've been told their reflections of life But they are more than just that They are exaggerations, exemplifications They are what we see and allow others to see
Hypnotic, neurotic venom of Nirvana- You bloom like the petals within my veins. As we sink to the ground; decomposing with an imperial clout... Will we still seek to know our story?
The shop doors open And the signs are turned, Every person, ready to strike a deal. Market street, dressed in wares of others' vision's Flowers, dresses, hats, grocers goods.
Have you ever just looked out and saw everything you couldn't formulate an explanation to captured through the simple essence of nature For instance take this cruise,
Look up at the sky, what do you see? I see a bird looking down at me. What does it see when it looks at me? Nothing, as I see nothing in me.   Why do you not have any hope?
Away in her room, the little maiden sits, Sent there for throwing too many fits. Her brunette locks rest on her broad shoulders and cascade down,
I am a writer A musical writer I write in song in rythmic song my writing has notes my writing may be notes It may be whacked Or out of order but this is my writing
Stop Listen The thrumming of the music Vibrating through your mind Painting a picture no other can see   Stroke Erase Your hand moves on its own Making the mind real
  The creations from within, are inner expressions of my core self, spilled onto the canvas & Paper. The creations from within, is a tool I use to connect with my higher guidance to guide me through new creative pathways.
The art of progression Is something of enlightenment The fact that you can evolve And then involve your mind In a split second A fragment of your life Becomes your whole Time Waisted
Its like I'm digging for gold but I ain't struck it yet ...Rockefeller oil man my lines are still slicker packing pounds of rhymes and building them poems like a lyrical building...line after line I'm passing out sublimeness as if it was just som
The being is away from spirit. Spirit never leaves. Being is always spirit.
Why must you pull me back? you evil thing tugging with a lion's brutality on the cords of my ankles. then I cannot walk or run free. and leap through those transparent but fierce and threatening walls of this cage.
Hark unto me oh ye man!!!! For it is not the struggle of one that overcomes all, but rather the struggle of all that overcomes one. We are not definite through human shape and form, rather infinite through UNIFYING energy.
Trapped are we, souls in bodies not our own. Longing are we to find our purpose our home. Externally. We search this home only it is we find we are alone. Soul full of stone. Look internally for within lies eternity.
The firefly Glows echoes innermost in Thought tis' Enlightenment
Feel the tongue tingling words oozing from my overly active brain. The sensation of bottle popping knowledge residing in your heart. His words will never hurt you again The hammer in your chest will pound no more
You'll never fit in; You'll never be one of us. Put your hand down, You're not that smart. You confuse the senses -- Your exterior hard; your skin soft. Your face harsh; your voice smooth.
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