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So let’s talk about Anxiety…

In Hey Life, It's Me Again, Writing by Leave a Comment

Anxiety is like being stuck in a circle of momentum – You are constantly moving within a defined set of parameters that represent your mental resilience. If you move out of that circle, things get a little messy. Every single person deals with varying levels of anxiety almost everyday. It can be as small as worrying about what you’re going to …

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Souls – Poetry [Freeverse]

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A series of short poems that describe people in my life using various letters of the alphabet.    Souls emanating every color of every shade Ones seen by only a few, their brightness hidden Trembling under the sun, they fade But not all souls are forbidden. Beginning with one riddled with sickness Brightness, suffering in frozen solitude Blazing, harboring rays …

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Blackened Flight – Poetry [Freeverse]

In Poetry, Writing by 2 Comments

A dark poem commenting on human corruption.  Structure binds our veins to glory Tying blood. Memory knots—Flow vanishing Knots tighter, limbs blue They plan to cut them off for you Sent to factories in polluted skies Blackened tar, innocent doves A promise to pay you for your flesh Like feathers blackened, a tainted mesh Of empty change jars filled with …

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My Darling – Poetry [Sonnet]

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A poem regarding the issue of being controlled by others/society  Sit my darling, listen to orders now Take a seat, ink in hand, a willing soul Rules and regulations, papers to vow Wisdom to offer, structure as a whole Words with lessons, blindly grinning—Black lids Sight useless, a clipped bird in its chains But orders are orders, ones that forbids …

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Crimes Against The Earth – Poetry [Prose]

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A short poem commenting on the relationship between man and earth. I wake to wind and burning coals inside my chest, a ribbon the color of cardinal feathers tied to my ring finger. Although I rise, expecting to hear the morning hymn of birdsong, I see the moon, casting rays of white across the bellows of the asphalt streets. I …

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The Colorless – Poetry [Freeverse]

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A poem that applies to all the creative dreamers that feel stifled by reality.   Sometimes I find myself grasping the air before me My hands are chapped, and thin. The air is cold. What I don’t realize is that I am attempting to grasp onto my Own sense of wonder—my sense that my mind could truly create… Something. Something …