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Overcome

Sometimes, when the weight
of it all enfolds you,
like an overfilled knapsack,
after an eternity,
you push it away,
your bones weary
and mind haggard.
But, you unearth strength,
like a new dawn,
Eos opening the gates
and welcoming the sun,
and there’s an instant ecstasy
juxtaposed with
a plethora of pain,
ancient galaxies can’t stand up
to the collapse of the climax
or the refrain, so you try to refrain,
but instead stagger through
until you are feeling so huge
and new, with the view
of the old you,
standing at the edge
of your own prison
viewing the skewed,
peering and wondering
how long before
you are no longer hungry,
but held even more,
with a lovely afterglow
after the low
of an aching, pummeled soul,
knowing the stellar is ready
to truly unfold.

 

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Photo Credit: Genre Contributor, Rich

IG: @see.rich.shoot

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What is Poetry? Part 1

What is Poetry? Part 1

Poetry is the expanse of
the imagination that lies,
dormant though brooding
until it manifests itself in a bloom.

Poetry is a womb,
obsessed with itself
but self-aware enough
to know that it is bound for a tomb.

Poetry is a wound,
heartache expressed in words,
the reaction to how it hurts,
feeling how pain works,
like peeling back layers of a scab.

Poetry is a drab day,
suddenly lit by the sun’s rays,
bursting through gray cloud,
and splaying out, proud
to have finally beaten the gloom
and touching as much as it can.

 

 

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Sick and Tired

I’m sick and tired of your games
Always guilt tripping me in passive aggressive ways
I’m sick of you invading my space
Please do me a favor and stay in your place
I’m sick of being asked one last chance
When in the end you leave with no trace
I’m sick of my chronic illness
That consumes my life forces away
I’m sick of being labeled as ungrateful
When all I did was sacrifice my life
I’m sick of the devil tempting me in so manys
Yet, I cry Lord have mercy on me for my sinful ways

 

 

 

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Photo Credit: Lanaya

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Since You’ve Been Gone

Lying on the carpet

the color deep sea

As my tears fall down my face

I don’t know if it’s from Adele’s angelic voice

or the fact that you’re not here anymore.

So I lie there, and I listen to Adele singing about

my broken heart

and I want to call you,

I want to tell you to come back,

even though I know you’ll hang up on me,

and tell me to move on.

So I listen to Adele

and I cry.

 

 

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Photo Credit: Jon Bright, Jr.