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Journal
Meow Yen

Meow Yen lived above the blue lantern café,
She dreamed a pink cherry blossom dream of running away,
Leave her dark memories scattered on the floor,
She would feel the warmth of happiness like sunshine once more...
She vowed to leave Tokyo, that city so old,
She would take back her heart and the kisses she sold 
Her painted paper fan hid the lie in her smile,
Her laughter was tearful even as her manner beguiled,
Meow Yen walked home in the water color rain,
White hands covering her silken pain,
That night she ate rice and opium,
Her lips closed over it like a poem,
She imagined a cloud of butterflies from heaven did descend,
They came to spirit away the beautiful Meow Yen....
:iconprofessorlongfello:professorlongfello
:iconprofessorlongfello:professorlongfello 2 1
Journal
Under the apple trees, a poem
Under the boughs of the Apple trees,
among the fallen leaves,
something lost and dearly missed lies scattered on the ground...
Dry white bones, a handfull of cloth and a tangle of silken hair....
A frightened scream in a child's voice lingers in the air....
Under the boughs of the Apple trees, a shadow skips and plays,
all the games that her mother taught her in the light of day.... 
Something lonely, something sad walks the quiet hillside,
it stares away at the distant lights,,,wishing it had never died....
Something that longs for a mother's kiss before she goes to sleep,
something that flitters through the forests and hangs it's head to weep...
Childish voices whisper on the wind, a melody that echoes and never ever ends....
Ring around the rosies....Pocket full of posies....Ashes.... Ashes... We all fall down....
An evil twisted blackness with the guileless smile of a friend, came out to snatch the children away that innocently held its hand...
So, under the boughs of the Appl
:iconprofessorlongfello:professorlongfello
:iconprofessorlongfello:professorlongfello 0 0
Literature
11:49 and 11:52
She sings a line, incomplete, it bothers me immensely.
Even though, the reference known, I feel teased.
I finish the quote in my head, but I want her to out loud.
Again, she sings.
Why must she torment me?
:iconMisterIndo:MisterIndo
:iconmisterindo:MisterIndo 0 0
Journal
Beauty is Everywhere


Elemental, updated by AlecBellCrash in Time by frenchfoxDandelions by art-melyHe is Brave He is Snake by NichrysalisMoscow Sparrow by inObrAS
Beautiful winter by irinama:thumb469204505::thumb469208169:Even Spaces, Uneven Events by jmelisioJe ne regrette rien by NB-Photo
Mirror Mirror by ZoombieMiiFeathered Page by MiikaC:thumb470608797::thumb466660256::thumb470052373:
Our Wayward Stars by BlackBowfin:thumb470122477:Books. by BleedingPropheciesSongbird by InklingsOfOblivionMultiplicity by Story-of-a-Mind
:iconPoetrymann:Poetrymann
:iconpoetrymann:Poetrymann 12 27
Literature
The Pleasant Winter Evening
It was a cold winter evening
I was inside my home,
Sitting near the hearth for warmth
I felt the chillness underneath my heel
So, I thought of having a sip of warm coffee
Suddenly, an idea crept into my mind
I thought of going for a walk
Soon, I stepped out of the home
With my warm clothes
As I was walking I heard the ...... of
the twosome birds. It was very tuneful.
On the way I saw a bright coloured
Flower on the side of the road. I was hilarious
at the sight of the flower.
So, I plucked it and returned home.



:iconAsterDew:AsterDew
:iconasterdew:AsterDew 8 3
Literature
The Dark Night Sky
When the dawn disappears,
The evening twilight appears.
While the glaring sun is drowned,
The dark night sky is crowned.
:iconAsterDew:AsterDew
:iconasterdew:AsterDew 12 13
Literature
Mother
My Mother is always hilarious,
Who is lively at work;
She is ready to face any obstacles,
And is always an evergreen tree;
She is a gallant woman,
And is humane at heart;
She is like the sacred holy scriptures,
From which I attain knowledge;
She is like a sculptor, chiseling me,
To make a beautiful sculpture;
She is the worshipper of God,
And always prays for my success;
Though she is not a star in the sky,
She is a lamp at home;
She is like a leading- string,
Who is always behind my triumph.
:iconAsterDew:AsterDew
:iconasterdew:AsterDew 10 20
Literature
Sunshine And Sunset
When it is time for Sun's birth,
It is the time for us to mirth.
But while it's time for Sun to sink,
We sleep and don't blink.
:iconAsterDew:AsterDew
:iconasterdew:AsterDew 12 11
Literature
Paradox
A sinner dwelling in paradise                                            
An honest man engulfed in her lies
If our faults never escape God’s eyes
How can we easily give in to vice?
A fool tied down by rusty chains
Deserted, crying in the pouring rain
His last rites were given by a saint
Yet he left this world in vain.
With my eyes closed, I was partly blind
I heard voices I never thought I would find.
The angels shed bitter tears
The devils are whooping with joy
Spitting out “We’ve made it clear,
The ethics have begun to cloy!”
An idealist had been put in the shade
She doused herself in vodka, vats after vats
Her resentment left deep scars that won't fade
“Those fights for justice, no more than a passing fad.”
Corpses called out from unde
:iconguycopath99:guycopath99
:iconguycopath99:guycopath99 0 5
Literature
In The Rain
I see her buttoning up her wool sweater
Making herself comfy in this cold weather
The way she walks, it’s like she doesn't care
If the game she’s playing right now is unfair...
“It hurts when our attempts are in vain,”
She said when the clock struck nine
As I watched her giggling in the rain
I wished that she could just be mine...
Clutching my heart, a groping pain
Can’t do this without choking back on tears
But I need to conquer my fear
Of letting her walk away in the rain...
Is the colour of her eyes brown or blue?
All I know of her is she’s so beautiful
This feeling inside me, I can no longer hide
I want her next to me, by my side...
“I need to rebuild my brother’s cairn,”
She said when the clock struck three
As I watched her crying in the rain
I wished her sorrow could end for free...
Clutching my heart, a groping pain
Can’t do this without choking back on tears
But I need to conquer my fear
Of letting her walk away in the
:iconguycopath99:guycopath99
:iconguycopath99:guycopath99 4 5
Literature
Losing Him
I have not even 3 years left with my brother
And I'm afraid they will be the last 3
We ever spend together
Because we are drifting each day
Further and further apart
And each day breaks my heart
More and more
Because I love him,
And I'm going to loose him
Unless something changes,
But he's walling me out.
He doesn't want me
And he doesn't care.
I'm loosing my brother each day
And I'm loosing who should be my best friend.
And what can I do?
Nothing,
Because he doesn't care
Or maybe he doesn't understand
How little time left together
That we have.
Our time is drawing to an end
And all I can do is watch it go down
I'm supposed to be his big brother forever
But that's not gonna happen
Because you can't fix a bridge
Without someone on the other side helping out.
:iconBrianMcPants:BrianMcPants
:iconbrianmcpants:BrianMcPants 0 2
Literature
dreams and realities...lol
Man and his tools
Love, power, thrill, steel, satisfaction.
Blood on the floor - blood beating in your ear.
To forget your inherent imperfection
or to make an angry statement clear -
there is a special kind of beautiful things
feared by fools, by fowls and by deer.
Man fears them not - he lives on what they give him:
a brief sensation of having lived at all -
then the freedom from a drained existence
the fools would keep him in, behind a wall.
Jealous
It's an ugly little snake, I tell you,
its silver coils wound 'round my heart,
its green eyes sparkling in the night -
hear it whisper if you let down your guard -
forever companion to the lowly-born,
its fangs in flesh embedded like a thorn...
Envy: the bane, the drive, the motivator
behind every scheming villain, scary scepter -
that snake awakens at the sight of lead,
and feasts on the legions of the dead.
Respect your elders
Your frailty feeds my wrath -
I hear you wheeze and see you crawl -
you're nothing but ver
:iconlibrarian-of-hell:librarian-of-hell
:iconlibrarian-of-hell:librarian-of-hell 1 0
Literature
guess the title
1.
I'm supposed to write about child abuse, but i'm no longer a child.
I don't even know if it classifies as abuse that i had to learn a foreign language to avoid you peering into my soul staring above my shoulder through my screen.
Is it your illness or mine? Or is this just normal life?
I see other mothers loving their offspring and think, that could've been us.
Then again, they could be pretending. And we can pretend too.
To a stranger, we are one of those loving families.
As long as I watch my words.
2.
"Unnecessary", "dangerous", "but the kids!", "accidents"...
You say it in a million words and I point to just one sentence, written way before you were even born.
You don't know how good you have it.
I'm not saying it should happen but wait till you're all alone in a dark alley, coming home from a party with your friends.
Till that man wants to get into your pants.
Till you wish you had one.
I never had that right.
You do.
Use it.
Before some idiot pulls on your heartstrings too muc
:iconlibrarian-of-hell:librarian-of-hell
:iconlibrarian-of-hell:librarian-of-hell 3 48
Literature
Misteka
Beyond the veil of mists that move
on their own accord, unheeding the wind,
there lies the corpse of a city to prove
human aspirations forever chagrin'd.
Its antique streets were not meant to be trod
by you, misshapen bristlecreepers;
its gardens, where dead fern-trees solemnly nod
were seen only by insane sleepers.
But this is here, where failed spirits are born,
that drowned in their mothers in the waking world -
here they gather, wounded by the thorn
of eternal envy - in towers they gird
for massive assault, invasion from the deep!
And sometimes - oh horror! - in their mothers' sleep
they invade the next child, take its rightful place,
assuming slyly humanity's face;
and then they whisper of their beloved home
in mysterious tomes and deeds done all alone.
:iconlibrarian-of-hell:librarian-of-hell
:iconlibrarian-of-hell:librarian-of-hell 4 8
Literature
playing around
Kissed
Once upon a mouth to kiss -
the glass lips of one-night bliss -
or maybe sweet steel relief -
or woman-spun tales of grief -
kisses shine like stars above,
but behind all, shines one love:
our mother unspeakable,
half-born, twice-beautiful Hel.
Cthonic
Deep heights unknown:
mountains forlorn
stretch and scratch into the sky.
Fires burning
and wheels turning
count the days to live and die.
But the great well -
old whispers tell -
yawns forever, and they reach
to the distance,
through the mad dance
of particles as they breach
old Earth's breath-skin,
forces wrestling:
solid stone - barely a breeze.
Frozen flute-song
swirling along -
the mad notes will never cease.
Old vs. New
Raised on the teat of Urda,
drinking in the words of old,
bright-eyed devil children
around the pyre are called.
Crows cry, medicine women
shriek as they peer into
secrets in a split heart.
Pay the ancestors' due!
Blades gleam in the frozen light
of a moon bled to death;
child warriors ga
:iconlibrarian-of-hell:librarian-of-hell
:iconlibrarian-of-hell:librarian-of-hell 0 0
Literature
Beat
Chords run up my spine
My head's no longer mine
The drumbeat slides into my lungs but I still say I'm fine
This story has been told
Each word worth dirt not gold
I try to scream yet only sing the rhythm, loud and bold
My heart's a violin
Sheet music on my skin
It's not a body it's a drum that I am living in
My ragged skin and bones
Hum eerie quarter-tones
The beat rips holes inside my flesh where stitches have been sewn
I know I cannot flee
No words, just manic glee
My veins course not with blood but with the song inside of me
:icontherealbeeblebrox:therealbeeblebrox
:icontherealbeeblebrox:therealbeeblebrox 2 8
My apologies for the snappish tone of my last Group Journal; I have thought the matter through, and realized that there are some photographs which have a poem in the captions, or someone could take a photo of their own calligraphy in the form of a poem; these artworks could and should be allowed in the gallery.
In that spirit, I wrote down a poem by hand and took a picture of it, as an example.  Please let me know what you think of it.

A Poem In Mine Own Hand... by Chaosfive-55
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Free-Verse
We Used To Talk,a world of language burdenedby the presumptuousand the declarativewhere it isn't so mucha conversation but a debatein every corner of societyhow would you let words pass us bylike knives on thin skinas silvery as the tonguesof which they were thrown fromWe used to talk,but now,we just declare.it must be this way,it must be my way,it must be,we command.where you aren't so muchinterested to discuss butwant a earpiece to yell intoa public square that has turnedinto your personal pillorywho is next in line to begrandstanded vociferously?how am I not guilty of doing thisin every prior utterance of the pagesburning a truth I must believeis sacrosanct and eternalWe used to talk,but now,we just state.it must be this way,it must be your way,it must be,we remand.it is in our best interestto want to be right beforeproven so an aura of confidencein the pretense you are isexactly the outcome of conversationwhere we aren't so mucha two-way street but aone way roundabout of circular logicswear fealty to verbiageof distant strangers who insist you mustintellectualize it to a degreebeyond what actually is describedhow are we not sullen to confirmation biasknowing how desperate our own validityhinges on a pattern of speech thatcan hold against the steely notionswe used to talk,but now,we just confirm.it must be this way,it must be our way,it must be,we demand.a world of language burdenedby the presumptuousand the declarativeis bound to poison discussionwe talk past one another andall that causes is conflictand a lack of understandingwe used to talk but nowall we concern ourselves withis being believed thanbeing understood,being heard thanbeing listened to,being right thanbeing impartialwe used to talkwhatever this is nowisn't what it used to be...
Make This About You,So you want me to make this about yousay that I get toopreoccupied on myselfand what the world says, well for youI don't give a goddamnBecause let's humor ourselves,I could write all the assumptionsof whoever peers these precarious eyesupon the page, but it's not worth staining my hands with your disgraceand you would of course be offendedhow could I know how you behaveyet the insistence that I inscribea eulogy for you, well, we alreadyknow one of your conceitsSo you want me to make this about youok and what if I'm tooharsh with the truthand what of how youwant me to embellisheverything about yousorry but I'm nota suckupLet's set an example for your sake;you're entitled, egocentric, presumptuous.now how does the foot feel if the boot fits?I can't know who you really are yetI'm still expected to psychoanalyze for your sakeand you would obviously retort and countermaybe that's why I don't get into specificsbecause doing so makes the contrariancome out to nitpick every minute detail,just another one of your conceitsSo you want me to make this about youyet forego mentioningthis and thatand these and thosehow would I knowanything about youif it's notthe truthYou wouldn't want me to be honestfor your own sake, lest it hurtsome semblance of your egodelicately constructed aroundan editorialization of yourselfif the description is lacedwith a thousand tiny caviatswho are you really to mebut a charlatan chameleon?I think I know your conceitsyou want me to make this about youbecause you asked for it, you need oneto validate whatever flowerly languageI save for better things on my mindnot my business to suggest a versionof you in writing you will never obtainso in our bickering, in a way,this is about youwhatever you want tomake of it.
Prescription of Self,If you carry yourselflike a cardboard cutoutnothing short of the windwill divert your sailsand bring you crashing downAs you define yourselfby secondary sex characteristicsthe skin that you didn't chooseand the place you happen to be born init's just as easy for others to box you in the sameJust as easy to be hated for as little asthe things you love yourself forprescribe depth to a paper thin veneerand everyone will see right through itIf your only values are asunalienable as anything elseyou are no more special thana single grain of salt onthe top of everyone else's tongueAs you define yourselfby the media you obligate to watchthe morals you can't show forand for merely existing at allit's just as easy to disregard you all the sameJust as easy to tear a foundation if thatis all the makeup of your templeprescribe depth in a shallow puddleand anyone can step all over itstamp your beliefs as rigidlyas stickers on a wet surfacedon't act surprised when bony fingers scratch themjust as easily off from youIf you carry yourselfon the virtue of beingit will just be as easyto dismiss you in vainto disregard you all the sameAs you define yourselfby the trends you ignorantly adoptby a flagpole you stand dispassionateand a label prescriptive of yourselfit's just as easy to define you by what you aren'tJust as easy to justify prejudice to a personwho carries themselves by their descriptionsprescriptively, what you herald willinevitably be your greatest weaknesscan't act surprised when your worldview is so shallow thatpeople can look past it all andin turn shallowly cast judgmentupon you as a personjust as easy to tear a foundation if its all that's therejust as easy to be hated for how little you love yourselfjust as easy to scratch a belief if placed like a wet stickerif you carry yourself, and define yourselfmerely on the prescriptive things about yourselfit will become commonplace to destroy you by those prescriptions.
Hardcore Soft Porn,A spiked club with all it's edges rounded outmight as well be no different from a batyet it's advertised as one, shown as another,afraid to cross the blurry line in the Overton windowShowcase yourself as mature and adultbut having as much maturity as a doltsell yourself as one, show your hand as another,afraid to challenge the precarious massesSins depicted as though virtuousmight as well be no different from biasyet they give you the potential, disappoint on the outcome,afraid to step out of the line in the Overton windowA toothless vampireA bullet with butterfly wingsA cannonball crashing like a featherhaving your cake and eating it tooOversold on the plight of subversivebut comes out as predictable as they comelie to yourself as one, hide your truth in a cover,afraid to step out of the conformityA fire raging like a flickera slur hitting like kindergarten insultsA subject tackled like a vague afterthoughtmaking your standard and not abiding by itAn X-rated film with no nudity or sexmight as well be hardcore soft pornmislead the audience on one, double down on the otherafraid to offend the notions of this Overton windowA puddle-deep poolA motivation made listlessA message easily consumedmaking your bed and not wanting to lie in itPlacate to the needs of pushing boundariesyet keeping it on the straight and narrowafraid to invent, afraid to push the envelope,afraid that the Overton window has suffocated you wholeAn open ride on railsA declawed wild animalA flaccid experiencereap all yet never wanting to sowcan't have it both waysbut will certainly tryafraid to make anything nicheafraid to turn people awayas the Overton window closesso too does the opportunityto push the envelopeto find the breaking pointand if your heart isn't in itto challenge the norms of societyyou were never in it to be edgytoo afraid of the backlashyou might as well bea spiked club with all it's edges rounded outan X-rated film with no nudity or sexa toothless vampire, a puddle-deep poola walking contradiction to encapsulate it allyou appeal to everyone, will appeal to no one
Fixed-Form
M/C,cruel mistresses the both of youpushing me on either sides of the brinkbut I love it, balancing this impossible featon the tip of my pinky and expectinggreatness to come out of itfor I am the master of ceremonies,I'm ready to give a great show on empty,I'll pass out from the melatoninbefore I crash out from the caffeinebut regardless you'll know I'm the MClife is a game of passing betweenenergy drinks and sleeping pillsand I'm a certified expert by that marginI've fucked my body beyond recognitionall for the betterment of my craftFor I'm here just for your entertainmentI'm ready to dance even through the tormentI'll likely die from a heart attackbefore I burn out from this ordainmentI've placed upon myself, this is my momentthe cruel mistress of melatonin and caffeinegot me swinging on both sides of the extremethis is what it means to be seendestroy yourself for ambition's own meansas all semblance of self is lost in the seamsLife is always teetering on sudden collapse and greatnessand how else to expedite the feelingbut to put my body through the rigorit'll get worse before it wont get betterFor I am the master of ceremonies,I'm ready to give a great show on empty,mouth dried from the melatoninand eyes gouged from the caffeinebut regardless you'll know I'm the MCThis is me holding the keys to my destinyrattling vivaciously in the reedsI'll lose days counting in my headbefore I know this is self defeatingbut you'll fucking know I'm the MCThe cruel mistress of work and joycannot be overstated, lately I can'ttell the difference anymoreis my passion borne of an outcomeor because it's all I've knowna cosmic malnutrition of melatonin and caffeineis what this life demands of me latelyfor how else would I fulfill my deedto entertain you all so consistentlyI'm the fucking MC, fuck my own needsI AM THE MASTER OF CEREMONIES,READY TO GIVE IT ALL EVEN IF I GOT NOTHING,JUST ANOTHER DOSE OF MELATONINAFTER ANOTHER BINGE OF CAFFEINEAND YOU'LL FUCKING KNOW I'M THE MCI'M THE MC, ON ALL KINDS OF THINGSJUST TO KEEP THIS TRAIN CRASH GOINGMELATONIN AND CAFFEINE ARE ALL MY BEINGIN MAKING THIS LIFE WORTH ANY MEANINGAND WHEN THAT HAS ALL RUN EMPTYI'LL BEI'LL BEnothing....
Nah, I'd Win,isn't that like usto look at the jaws of defeatand find victory anywhere elsein spite of the crushing, blatant and hopelessfeeling of our situation,we can face it with a ignorancebearing on stupid braveryand proclaim'nah, I'd win'fight not because it will matterbut because you simply canstruggle not out of conveniencebut because you want a resultisn't that like usto see what we want most of allin the most derelict of situationsknowing you willlose, swallow your pride andhave to try again,we will not go down so easilytake this defeat in our own handsand chant'nah, I'd win'toil not because things can changebut because it's all we've knownstruggle knowing nothing's differentonly because how else would we liveisn't that like usall that is bleak can't deter thepersistent stubbornness of our soulsdespite the crushinginevitabilities of lifein knowing when and not if,we still pick ourselves fromthe rubble, deny our fateand state'nah, I'd win'Isn't that like usfight for that's how we arewe lose when we give into the ultimately self-evidentso only brave ignorance shallsteel our wills onwardnah, I'd winIsn't that like usstruggle for an eternityagainst a crushing wavethere must be a eventualitythat we will come out on topand only believing it won'tis what will bring us downnah, I'd wintoil not because things can changefight not because it will matterstruggle not out of conveniencebut we can, and we will, becausethat's just like usignorance is a mistress towardsthe hopeless and fleetingand maybe that delusion canafford a more desirable outcome'nah, I'd win', in a worldthat has it out for you to lose...
31,been here for a lifetimeor just a moment awaydoesn't matter what dayall I know this is now minemine for the reapingI'm sure I've done this beforetoiling on a forgotten warnot knowing why I startedbut knowing I will do it againI've put too much to feel half heartedto bear it's absence give me painwhen it's all said and doneI will past another year as though nonejust to repeat the same charadefor all I know I've said it exactlythe same way all those bygone yearsa tradition as drawn as a paradeeven I forget why we did it, clearlywhen it's all said and donehappy birthday, you're thirty-onebeen here for far too longor just a heartbeat agodoesn't matter, i foregoall ability to tell the eonsthe eons of this having meaningI'm sure I've done this beforeselling my soul here like a whorenot knowing if I do it out of obligationor a delusion that it must be purposefulI'm in too deep in having hesitationof wanting to stop short of it being hurtfulwhen it's all said and doneI will past another year like every single onewe all grind the proverbial milefor all I know in another lifethere was treasure in those bygone yearsbut how we make it worth the whiletends to be forgotten in lieu of the strifewhen it's all said and donehappy birthday, you're no oneI'm sure I've said it beforenever made a difference if I've ignoredthe shadows of myself I step overnot caring how I walked the same trackbut it's familiarity a chip on my shoulderthat nostalgic feeling i can't get backbeen here for a eternityit's longer than you thinkand you won't realizeuntil it's too late and thenwell, might as well stayfor the occasion happy birthdayyou're done.
Fatalistic,Imagine it, everyone and everythingin their rightful placeit's such a perfect stateto be made a fixed fateno more a hero or a disgracewhere nothing is anyone's faulta blameless life to livenothing to take or giveno need for a grudge or to forgivebecause every decision isn'thow do you decide what is deterministican acting paradox of what is realisticIf all of it is fixed nothing isbut that's how it is being fatalisticImagine it, everyone and everythingjust a turn of the pageit's such a acted stageto be made prerecorded fateno more a character to iteratewhere nothing can be accounted forno wrongs to undo or ignoreno reason for needs or choresis this the life you living for?knowing what lies ahead is such a borebut what is choice devoid of such thingsif you can decide that it should have nonearen't you no less grappling with destinyby letting go and let what happens happen?how do you decide what is deterministican acting paradox of what is realisticif all of it is fixed nothing isbut that's how it is being fatalisticImagine it, every word I writealready made sacrosanctno matter how I paintit is all laid in plaincan't diverge off this trainwhere nothing is worth changingit has to be this waythe same sunlight yesterdaywe let bygones lie awayforego our independence have swayand in the irony of choosing to do sodo we fully lose our choice and in turnlet outside elements determine for usif we believe it must be set in stonenihilism might be a depressing thoughtbut it is also freeing, no more regardthat we are burdened by some greater purposeeverything we make, no matter howinsignificant and meaningless to anyone elsecan be how we carry ourselves to legacyand would it be preferable to shake that awaybecause what we're doing now seems pointless?how do you decide what is deterministican acting paradox of what is realisticif all of it is fixed nothing isbut that's how it is being fatalisticeven the man who traveled back in timecouldn't erase the past he regrettedall he could do was look forward onwardand find a future worth changing for himwe may not be able to change what has happenedbut that is no excuse to let all bygones goso here we are, being fatalisticin the face of overwhelming evidencethat deciding to be is in of itselfa contradiction of what is realistic.
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Humorous
Get The Belt,"Grow up why don't you", said the dadto his unruly son, who knew nothingbut rebellion, independence a double edged sword swung naively around before he brings it to the groundthis boy is gonna get the beltGrown up they have been, no fathersto rule their sun, they have everythingto themselves, a record label anda bravado to swing like their dickaround as their pants sag to the groundthese boys need to get a beltwhy have they forsake such a useful tool?is it that it hangs over them in shame?does it carry the symbol of authorityto business and rigidity they sovaliantly despise in their crudeness?Someone needs to get the beltpull your pants above your anklesno one cares what you're swingingI'd rather not see your underwearGet a beltyour lack of decency isn't a status symbolPrimmed their feathers like a insecure peacockcompeting against the lowest common denominatorweigh their worth by the toys they havefrom Legos to action figures alikethrow them at each other until they fall to the groundthese boys need to get the beltThrusting their label like a compensating cockchasing those vacuous ratings for validationweigh their worth by the toys they havefrom Lambos to how many figures alikeshoot across each other until they trip all aroundthese boys need to get a beltwhy have these boys chose this life?is this item ring too close to the chest?does it make them seem insignificantcompared to the vanity of the accoutrementsthey so desperately crave on the daily?Someone needs to get the beltsomeone needs to catch my driftpull your damn pants above your anklesno one wants to see what you're swingingand they wouldn't care how large it may beI'd rather not see your fucking derrierget a beltcatch this driftyour lack of decency ain't a status symbolyour excess of nothing ain't rebellion"Get with the times", snarkly the soncondemns their fathers, for some who may havenone, lived a life of sucking on the teetand therefore believes is owed everything,no discipline to appreciate the lot in lifeand thus will demonize getting the belt"Get with the times", irrelevant this sonmakes with his means, for some who lack anysense of reason, been getting by easyand therefore believes they owe nothingonly disciples to kiss at their greedy feetand thus will not think of getting a beltwhy is fatherhood conflated with maturity?for if there is none, why do we condemnthe content for the envy?even this useful item is reviled forit marks the burden of responsibilitySomeone has to get the beltsomeone has to catch my driftsomeone has to take a hintpull your pants above your ankles you muttyou're making a embarrassment of yourselfno one cares what you got swinging underneathwhy bring undue attention to your insecuritieswhen no one cares how hard you try to shield itI'd rather not see you humiliate yourself this wayGet a beltcatch this drifttake the fucking hintyour lack of decency isn't a status symbolyour excess of nothing ain't rebellionwearing your pants down isn't cool in anywayget the belt, or else the belt will get you.
Fantasy
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:icondestruct1v3:
Destruct1v3 Featured By Owner Apr 17, 2023  Hobbyist Writer
I would like to join as a member not an administrator but thats all it will let me do when clicking join group
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:iconsomethingguy912:
Somethingguy912 Featured By Owner May 9, 2023  Professional Writer
i sent you an invitation. did you get it on time?
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:iconjustanotherdj:
JustanotherDJ Featured By Owner Apr 8, 2018  Student Writer
Thanks for accepting me!:D (Big Grin) I can't guarantee how active I'll be, but I'm excited to help contribute all the same!  
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:iconsomethingguy912:
Somethingguy912 Featured By Owner May 4, 2018  Professional Writer
nice job dude!
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:iconchaosfive-55:
Chaosfive-55 Featured By Owner Apr 8, 2018  Hobbyist General Artist
:w00t: 
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:iconlaernu:
Laernu Featured By Owner Sep 11, 2017
best wishes to such a great theme for a group!
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:iconchaosfive-55:
Chaosfive-55 Featured By Owner Sep 11, 2017  Hobbyist General Artist
;) We aim to please!
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:iconjoerb:
JoeRB Featured By Owner Nov 9, 2016
Hello! Gosh, there's lots of excellent material here. I'd love to join this group, but it seems you aren't accepting new members. Is there a possibility I could join? that is if my poetry is worthy.
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:iconchaosfive-55:
Chaosfive-55 Featured By Owner Nov 13, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist
I shall send you an Invitation at once!!
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:iconjoerb:
JoeRB Featured By Owner Nov 13, 2016
Thaaanks! I can't wait to jump in with all these other fine works! Admittedly I only have one other poem on the way, before I start posting drawings, but I'll still write poetry and post that as well as long I live!
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