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 3° 
JP Goss
They came into this world
Starving, pathetic, and in need of work
Computer beings seeking profit,
We called them millennials and,
Like bacilli to honey,
They will eat themselves to death;
Iā€™ll be waiting with an open casket.
When the time comes,
Issued as both punishment and reward,
Fitted just for lazy things,
And it shall be translucent,
As all human desires are
An empty display
Of material just as ubiquitous.
Iā€™ll be the funeral director,
Engorged by suffering,
When the time comes
Iā€™ll be waiting with an open casket.
The skin that does not bleed
When struck, requires only a few
Strikes more,
The arms which do not tire
When pushed, require only a few
More loads,
The will that does not break
When overburdened, requires only a few
Lashes moreā€”
When the time comes
Iā€™ll be waiting with an open casket
And let the ocean, in pacificity
Carry them to the collective
Dead of this world, to churn in anonymity
For eternity; a true hell to the ego,
Iā€™ll be waiting with an open casket
Just to send it off with a nudge.
 3° 
Lemonade
she is a happy ending,
not everyone can wait for.
 3° 
soliana
she gave me her nudes
she was bare
and naked
and so out
and open
and i willingly
accepted it
because it wasnt the nudes
that showed her body
the physical aspects
that made her beautiful
it was the words
she didnt choose
and the spontaneity
that left her
either from her lips
or her fingers
or ink

she was as bare
as her nudes
and i accepted
her for her.
10:02 PM 5/1/2018
 3° 
Sofie Louise
Iā€™m not empty.
Itā€™s not that I donā€™t feel anything.
The exact opposite.

I feel so much.

So much I get desensitized to my own emotions.
They flow around like water in every corner of my body.
Mixing in with my blood until there is no cell untouched.

It used to be a gentle lake.
But now Itā€™s an ocean.
So all I can do is sit here and pretend that Iā€™m a puddle.
Just like everyone else.
 3° 
Loveless
And over time,
My pen stopped bleeding
But my heart didn't
 3° 
Donall Dempsey
UP IN THE SKY( for W. W. )

Daddy was a pilotman
went to work in the sky
where bombs came from

he wentĀ Ā to bash the bad men
who mashed all the houses up
made big holes in the road

he told me not to be
frightened but I was and
so was teddy

I didn't like the war
it was too noisy and
kept on too long

the world shook
like an invisible giant
stomping on the ground

Mummy always said
never mind
it will be over soon

but it never was
I prayed it was
God wasn't listening

the black out
ate all the light]
teddy kept his eyes shut tight

next door went away
one morning it was
just not there

a milk bottle
stood on a doorstep
that has no house

Daddy went to work
high above the clouds
one day he never came back

Daddy had to stay
up in the sky
Mummy said he lost his way

I still think of him
living up in the sky dead
not able to come home

being dead means
you can't see someone
and they can't see you

the sky was too high
the ground was too low
so he is always up in the air

I was five
when the bombs fell
breaking the world

now I am 65
but the war still lives
on inside my head

I am older than
my daddy
could ever be

I still don't cry because
Daddy said I mustn't
I tell myself I mustn't

teddy doesn't cry because
he lost both his eyes
so he couldn't

that world now
only lives in photographs
Daddy always smiling
 3° 
Lily
I remember the evening
that we sat clinging
to paper cups
of coffee gone cold

over secrets spilled and memories told
two bodies cursed
with hearts grown old

behind your eyes
I found new worlds
A winding road stretched out for miles
to a small cafe at the end of the isle

Sweet pastries filled the mouths
of those who sat beside us
and stayed for a while.

How the hours went by,
people just passing through
The descending sun ending
a forever with you.
 3° 
She Writes
You asked me why I like you
But I didnā€™t want to tell
Some of my reasons are cheesy...
But here is why I fell

I love the way your lips curve
When I make you smile
It makes me want to pull you close
And kiss you for awhile

I love the way your eyes twinkle
When you talk about things you love
I truely believe
You are a gift from above

I love that you are compassionate
You have such a big heart
That was the first thing I noticed
Right from the start

I love the way it feels
When you hold me tight
I finally feel safe
Like I could sleep through the night

I love that you donā€™t judge me
For my less than perfect self
That is more attractive
Than any amount of wealth

There are so many more reasons
But Iā€™ll start with just this few
Maybe someday
Iā€™ll give this poem to you

:)
 3° 
e reed
We count the same stars

We whisper to the same moon
Ā Ā Ā Ā each night.

That is enough,
just knowing weā€™re in the same universe.

e.reed
 3° 
Chelsea Rae
Strange, isn't it?

The way we mourn those
Still living...
I miss you.
 3° 
ogdiddynash
THERE WIL BE BAGELS!

<>
New York style, very large,
with burnished, glazed-ed crust,
almost meaty, a meal nearly self~
sufficient, with grapes of creamed
cheese, Scottish salmon, a repast that
states, that the week begins well, that

thus nourished, we are stronger, fortified
to face the onslaughts of life moderne,
our enslavement to the endless news
recycled cycle that flourishes and face
whips us with shades of disaster in mirrors
that will never cease to query us if this is truly:

our appearance
our best selves
our self~doubts,
refuse scars of
prior battles

my cafe porcelain mug of 19 oz. washes
away my unshaven grimaced grime of
mine mind, and I sally forth renewed,
meaty, slightly burnished, with a glazed
protective patinaĀ Ā of a hardy New Yorker
who chews, spits out the chaff of noises
that serveĀ Ā only to efface my native rights to
optimism
 3° 
Stephen E Yocum
My almost grown grandsons
see only a stooped withered
old man when they look at me,
no clue of the young man I used
to be. Or where I have been, the
things I've done. They've only
known me like this. Even 20
years ago, when they were born
I was already a senior citizen.

In my mirror I also see what they
see and can barely recall that
once upon a time younger me.

Time moves on leaving erosion
behind upon mountains and
people too.
Erosion on mountains is
a slow process, we humans
are not that fortunate.
 3° 
Rainy Days
I fell for the boy
Making sandwiches in the kitchen
Fell for his eyes
A deep green
Like a pine tree
I fell deep for the boy in the kitchen
And boy I love him
And the way he looks at me.
 3° 
Beaux
If I die in a school shooting
I'll never go home again.
My room will sit unused,
A capsule frozen in time,
A snapshot of how I was.

If I die in a school shooting
I'll never see my dog again.
She will sit at the front door
Waiting for me and wondering,
Why I never came home.

If I die in a school shooting
I'll never graduate from high school.
My yearbooks will sit stacked
Stopped short of their goal,
Missing years that should have been.

If I die in a school shooting
I'll never see my mom again.
She will sit distraught,
Planning a funeral
For a child taken from her.

If I die in a school shooting
I'll never see my friends again.
They'll sit together, missing me.
One empty seat among them,
A constant reminder of their loss.

If I die in a school shooting
I'll never see my little sister again.
She will sit through high school
Knowing I can't guide her through,
That she has to figure it out alone.

If I die in a school shooting
My school will be stained.
Pools of students lives will sit,
Blood tattoos on the brick structures,
Marks of death ground into it.

If I die in a school shooting
Everyone will wear black.
They'll send their thoughts and prayers
To a town marred by death,
Forever to be the home of a shooting.

If I die in a school shooting
Will the world change?
Or will I become one of hundredsĀ Ā 
Of kids who have to die?
What will it take?

If things continue this way
Children will have to live in fear.
They'll look over their shoulders
Always worried and wondering,
If they'll die in a school shooting.
The state of Florida is now home to the two most deadly mass shootings in American history. Pulse Nightclub was attacked in my city, I have friends who attend Marjory Stoneman Douglas in Parkland. My little sister often fears going to school. I'm afraid to graduate and leave her. I want to be able to protect her if something happens. I hate that we have a reason to be afraid... That it's reasonable to have these fears. I hate it so f*cking much.
 3° 
Chris Balase
I only have 5 minutes
To spare this poetry
Here it goes:

5.
I do not wish to be seen
Said the old man in me
So leave me alone
Cause I don't want to be

4.
For I've been running away
This is what I hate
And I envy everyone else
Who are not in the same fate.

3.
What have I become?
Where will I go?
The questions are left unanswered
And I've searched high and low.

2.
To be strong once more
In my world full of doubt
To be strong while I lose
In my latest bout.

1.
I wish I had more time
Just like before
I only have 5 minutes
And I wish I had more.
 3° 
Arden
Can we talk about the word trigger
Because people are dumb
Teenagers say they are triggered when
They donā€™t want to write a paper
They miss a goal in soccer
They drop their phone
That is called being annoyed or disappointed
That is not triggered

A trigger is an emotional allergy
Some that triggers distress or panic
A trigger is loud noises cause a panic attack
 3° 
A M Ryder
How do you
Forgive yourself
For all the
Things that
You never
Became?
 3° 
L W D
You are a dream that I get to live everyday.
Sometimes I get sad
But then I remember life without you
And it all feels so surreal.

I love you. I love life with you. Every second.

If I knew you were at the end of the rainbow,
I would not have stayed inside all of those rainy days.

Thank you Rwitika for completing me.
 3° 
Triste
She met an artist
His fingers were made of gold
They moved like brush strokes
She was an empty canvas
His portrait of rainbow tears
 3° 
Enas
I am so sorry.

For every time I hurt you..

For every cruel word Iā€™ve ever said to you..

For not seeing what you needed most..

For not being kind to you as much as everyone else..

For every tear you have wasted..

For every time I stepped on your heart..

For every time I didnā€™t believe in you..

For every time I didnā€™t listen to you.

I am so sorry.

For ripping you apart..

For destroying the beautiful things in you..

For always making you pay the price..

And I apologise for all the wrongdoings I caused you!

Forgive this fallible human that is you.

I am so sorry.
 3° 
Path Humble
left my phone unlocked
on the taxiā€™s back seat,
won't be the last time

called it a few times
finally, the driver picked up

he had a fare immediately after mine,
and was nowĀ headed way downtown,
and would call later
when fate returned him nearer my office

and so it came to pass,
very shortly thereafter,

we met on the street,
he rolled downĀ Ā the window
and with the greatest smile of pleasure,
as if he had won the lottery
beaming,
handed me my phone

I had two $20's to cover any expense he might have incurred,
neatly folded in my handĀ Ā 
and offered it right up, right away;
but the driver repeatedly pushed my hand away
as I insisted,
saying:

"No sir, no no, not necessary!

Allah sent me a fare
that took me soon back close to you, so,
Ā Ā no loss of time did I suffer,
so your offer is kindly unnecessary!"


to which I replied,

"exactly!
Allah sent you to me
so I could reward you!"


and with an equally, beaming smile I continued,

"our ride and meeting today,
together was pre-ordained it was


Inshallah!" ^

something he could not dispute...
or my knowledge thereof and itā€™s
proper pronouncement,
nor
his amazement,
to disguise!

Ā Ā we parted ways
Ā Ā  each believing,
Ā Ā  each receiving,
a heavenly check plus,
each, credited with a mitzvah^^
on our
respective trip logs,
our humanly divine balance sheets,
kept by the
single
supreme taxi dispatcher
Arabic for ^"God/Allah willing" or "if God/Allah wills," frequently spoken by a Muslim


^^a meritorious or charitable act in the Jewish tradition

FYI,
NYC taxi cab drivers are suffering economically by the explosion of ride hailing app cars, many unable to pay their bills, earn a living, have committed suicide over the past few months
https://www.nbcnews.com/news/us-news/sixth-new-york-city-cab-driver-dies-suicide-after-struggling-n883886

true story, poetry is there for the taking
 3° 
Ally
I rise to greet the dawn

distracting my heart

I take a sip of dark roast

and exhale

today I will

just breathe
 3° 
Traveler
The goal is love
The roadblocks are our own minds
The programs of our childhoodā€™s
Renders are spiritual eyes blind

Stumble as I may
My heart will never delay
I donā€™t want to be left behind
In a hell of angry rhymes
Hate is a war within.
It will **** you in the end
Traveler šŸ§³ Tim
 3° 
Serendipity
Her smile sits
on the curb of a road
between Summer
and Fall.
 3° 
Jermon
It's your decision
whether to make your mind
A prison
Or
A stepping stone
23.09.2019
 3° 
Jonathan
We chased a feeling
not a reality

We both wanted someone
So desperately
that we found each other

Even though no part of
us
worked

Our pieces didnā€™t fit together
so we pressed and jammed them
until they were stuck
and stayed that way
Until
we broke

-red flags
 3° 
Nat Lipstadt
Itā€™s good to be hated!Ā Ā But I know my nameā€¦


hate, blackened, misshapen, ugly, unnatural,
yet
how it clarifies the mind, like a cupped hand
carrying clear, cold, brook water to dry mouth,
to shock, enliven, resets resets, all your priorities
withĀ alacrity, a word I prefer cause it is an intuitive
combo of eagerness + alarm, suddenly much of the

trivial is no longer worthy of yourĀ Ā ā€˜to doā€™ list,
you, without thinking, DNA filter your filters,
those screens that digest, then reject & reflect
the inputs ongoings around you, and you are now
reclassified! by theĀ hate surrounding, it declassifies
the time wastrels, reinterpreting most everythingĀ 
on a bipolar scale ofĀ Ā 1Ā Ā orĀ Ā 10, there are no shades,
the middle ground of gray be fully eliminated,
just like those who wish to
eliminate
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā ­Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā me.


in a palette of black or white, your
e +e,
(essence and existence) cannot be ever
a gray area, yes, of course, the sunshine
is yellow bright, and the grass is spring
flushed green, the multicolored daffodils
newly define colors varietal, and the waves
of the Sound, roll relentlessly, but hate can be
coated, camouflaged and subtle disguised, but
weĀ Ā know, oh how we know, and how we wanted
to
forget, our ā€œsinsā€, our original liabilities of
our multi colored skins, our religion, our race & ethnicity,


but NOT our names!

the Rabbis tell us that God nearly did not keep
his promise to Abraham, to rescue his progeny
from slavery in Egypt but saved them only because:

ā€˜On account of four things Israel was redeemed
from Egypt: they did not change their names, they
did not change their language,Ā Ā they did not speak
slander and not even one of them was found to be
promiscuous.ā€™^

I know my name; and though you cannot distinguish
me by dress, know not my moral life,Ā but now you
know my name,
given to me by my parents, in the language of my ancestors:

Mordecai Netanel ben (son of) Eliyahu Chaim**

Per my family lore, as told to me by my parents, our
family fledĀ from Spain because of the Inquisition (1478),
settled in a small town in Germany on the banks
of the river Lippe; and from the shtetls of Poland,
and those who survived or avoided the Holocaust
ultimately left Europe, came here, to the land of
the free, the United States of America with names,
in their language, with memories intact.

I will not flee this country,
for I know my true name,
inscribed in my pores, in my
DNA

<>
(but should I have toā€¦there is a sanctuary.)
May 2 2024
^ https://jewishaction.com/religion/jewish-law/whats-the-truth-about-the-jewish-in-egypt-keeping-their-jewish-names-language-and-dress/
 3° 
lyka
I sold my soul to poetry
And never looked back
But now every relationship
Is a writing prompt
Every trauma, a metaphor
Here lies the dead wishes of men
once alive
the dense shrubs hide the pain
weeds thrive.

Here lies a grieving heart
once much joyous
the windows are broken and hurt
bricks break like glass.

Here lies the power of wealth
once pompous
now in ruined health
seems it wasn't all that precious.

Here lies the remains of heydays
once vibrant
with bones the jackal plays
reminds time is a tyrant.

Here lies moss on the wall
once finely painted
now dark and dull
the air is serpent scented.
Simultala, April 4, 2024 evening.
 3° 
Alexis
I lay here
Naked and exposed.
But only for a night,
By morning he must go.
Make me feel beautiful,
I donā€™t care about tomorrow,
Kiss me, **** me, hold me
To forget all my sorrows.
 3° 
V
If you don't heal what hurt you,

You'll bleed on people who didn't cut you.
</3
 3° 
Emma P
Sun
When I say
that you are my Sun,
I donā€™t mean that you are
Luminous,
Brilliant,
Gilded,
Beautiful,
Bold,
Warm,
Or even the center of my universe.
I simply mean that
I cannot look at you
Without hurting
 3° 
Antino Art
In dark times,
I'll follow the stars
from here to there,
arriving at my center
to trace my constellation.
If tonight is all I have,
I'll keep moving,
one with my shadow,
not knowing where this leads.
I'll cover new ground
when no one is watching
as stars align
to reveal a path through
the darkness toward
the bright spots ahead.
I'll take in the view,
under the stars
returning
the way I came.
 3° 
3
this feeling is not
symbiotic: you reduce
my core to nothing
at least i am something (ashes) and at least you are happy
i am molded symbiose!
m.b.d forever
 3° 
Julian
i believe,
even the stars
get tired.

when the night sky
had folded them away
back into the darkness

and the moon,
that lonesome thing,
has doused itself in shadows.

so will you too, my friend
shy away from the light
as if it would burn
if it reached you.

maybe you feel,
you just are not strong enough
to face the day.

that the midnight hour
is a broken thing

and oh, the silence
is deafening.

and you and i know, even the stars
are tired.

you mourn for them
as their light expires.
 3° 
hsyclara
every other month,
i fly.
when my mind fills with worries and unease,
my lungs expand with fear not air,
my heart speeds,
and with a single backpack
i take a bus to the airport.
long ride listening to my comfort songs
is just a beginning to my little getaway.
(i already feel calm writing about this moment)

quick 30 mins wait at the gate, then
i fly.
my reality you can wait for me at the airport
right where i left you,
because you deserve a break too.

see you in 5 days.
i'll meet you back at the airport.
 3° 
Virtuous
Don't tell me I'm pretty
Tell me that I'm passionate
That I have drive
Tell me that I make you laugh
That I know how to make your day better
Don't tell me I seem nice
Tell me that I'm kind and compassionate
Tell me that I'm not afraid to dream and to dream big
Don't tell me I'm perfect
Tell me the you love me despite my flaws
That you want to spend the rest of your life with me
Don't tell me I'm beautiful
Tell me that you'll be faithful and forever true
 3° 
Anna Patricia
~
There are pauses in between musical notes and stops between an artist's strokes and periods in between a writer's sentences. We have come to an end. We have come to a stop. But sometimes the only way to continue is to halt. The only way to begin is to end.

- apbq, pauses and stops
 2° 
rk
the scent of incense
hangs heavy in the air
the constant murmer of voices
comes crashing like waves
but your eyes meet mine
and the faces disappear
the voices die,
all that remains
is an unspoken invitation
from my lips
willing yours to kiss them
and yours happily
meet their request
leaving our love tasting
like oranges
tenderly plucked
from moonlight lips.
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