#amazing poem

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Καλημερα

Δεν ξερω αν μου λειπει ο εαυτος μου πριν σε γνωρισω. Δεν ξερω αν μου λειπει περισσοτερο ο εαυτος μου μαζι σου. Ξερω σιγουρα πως δεν αντεχω τον εαυτο μου ετσι.

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Το τζιν τονικ μου ταιριαζει αψογα με τα αγαπημενα σου τσιγαρα.
Ωρα τωρα τριβελιζω ενα πακετο απο αυτα.Και ενα μπουκαλι τζιν και ενα τονικ.
Μολις εξαντληθηκαν.
Εγω ακομη μενω.
Δεν θελω αλλον να κυκλοφορησω με κανεναν τους.
Τα τσιγαρα σου να καπνισω μαζι τους.
Με ρωτησαν αν σ αγαπω.
Δεν απαντησα,το θεωρω αυτονοητο.
Με ρωτησαν τι ειμασταν.
Γελασα και τους εστειλα σε εσενα,εγω δεν καταλαβα ποτε ειπα μεσα στη μεθη μου.
Και σκεψου οτι ο ηλιος δεν ειχε βγει καλα καλα ακομη.
Ηταν μοναχα 8 και 27
Σκεψου πως ημουν τηνυπολοιπη ημερα αστερι μου.

Ακομη νιωθω τον καπνο και την στιφαδα του ποτου στις ακρες των δοντιων μου.

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Τα απλα πραγματα.

Γιατι εγω εντυπωσιαζομαι με το πως στεγνωνει ο καφες στην κουπα και σκεφτομαι ποσο παιζει να την γουσταρει.Κολλαω με τον τροπο που με σκοτωνει και με κανει να νιωθω καλυτερα το τσιγαρο.Αλλα ειναι αδιανοητο το ποσο μαστουρωνω με το αρωμα σου και μεθαω στη φωνη σου οσο χανομαι στις μπουκλες σου... Αλλα εσυ μωρο μου θες μεγαλα πραγματα...εντυπωσιακους κοιλιακους μοδατα τατουαζ και ομορφο φαινεσθε...εγω μονο το ειναι μου εφτιαξα για σενα και εκανα το ονομα σου τατουαζ και οταν ηρθα πιο κοντα σου και σε εχασα εχασα τη φορμα μου μαζι με το καπνισμα που ξεκινησα Αλλη μια γελοια ιστορια...αλλο ενα κομματι μας...Μου λειπεις μα δε σου λειπω να το σφαλμα "μας"

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A Poem to Everyone Who Has Ever Been Bullied, Hated, Mocked On, Judged, Laughed at, Ridiculed, and the like. May This Poem Inspire You. :)

“Still I Rise” By: Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may tread me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? ‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops. Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you? Don’t you take it awful hard ‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines Diggin’ in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise That I dance like I’ve got diamonds At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame I rise Up from a past that’s rooted in pain I rise I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear I rise Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave. I rise I rise I rise

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Helloo c: (if you're still doing the song poems)

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BAD SONG POEM LETS GO:

Everything she says to me means nothingI'm gonna pick up the pieces and build a Lego house I'm here to collect your hearts Summer has come and passed Did you hear the thunder?

(Nothing - McFly // Lego House - Ed Sheeran // Where Did The Party Go - Fall Out Boy // Wake Me Up When September Ends - Green Day // Did You Hear The Rain? - George Ezra)

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The Touch

For months my hand was sealed off in a tin box. Nothing was there but the subway railings. Perhaps it is bruised, I thought, and that is why they have locked it up. You could tell time by this, I thought, like a clock, by its five knuckles and the thin underground veins. It lay there like an unconscious woman fed by tubes she knew not of. The hand had collapse, a small wood pigeon that had gone into seclusion. I turned it over and the palm was old, its lines traced like fine needlepoint and stitched up into fingers. It was fat and soft and blind in places. Nothing but vulnerable. And all this is metaphor. An ordinary hand -- just lonely for something to touch that touches back. The dog won't do it. Her tail wags in the swamp for a frog. I'm no better than a case of dog food. She owns her own hunger. My sisters won't do it. They live in school except for buttons and tears running down like lemonade. My father won't do it. He comes in the house and even at night he lives in a machine made by my mother and well oiled by his job, his job. The trouble is that I'd let my gestures freeze. The trouble was not in the kitchen or the tulips but only in my head, my head. Then all this became history. Your hand found mine. Life rushed to my fingers like a blood clot. Oh, my carpenter, the fingers are rebuilt. They dance with yours. They dance in the attic and in Vienna. My hand is alive all over America. Not even death will stop it, death shedding her blood. Nothing will stop it, for this is the kingdom and the kingdom come." ---The Touch by Anne Sexton

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Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

Fire and Ice by Robert Frost

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Cranky Old Man - Anonymous.

What do you see nurses? . . .. . .What do you see?

What are you thinking .. . when you're looking at me? A cranky old man, . . . . . .not very wise, Uncertain of habit .. . . . . . . .. with faraway eyes? Who dribbles his food .. . ... . . and makes no reply. When you say in a loud voice . .'I do wish you'd try!' Who seems not to notice . . .the things that you do. And forever is losing . . . . . .. . . A sock or shoe? Who, resisting or not . . . ... lets you do as you will, With bathing and feeding . . . .The long day to fill? Is that what you're thinking?. .Is that what you see? Then open your eyes, nurse .you're not looking at me. I'll tell you who I am . . . . .. As I sit here so still, As I do at your bidding, .. . . . as I eat at your will. I'm a small child of Ten . .with a father and mother, Brothers and sisters .. . . .. . who love one another A young boy of Sixteen . . . .. with wings on his feet Dreaming that soon now . . .. . . a lover he'll meet. A groom soon at Twenty . . . ..my heart gives a leap. Remembering, the vows .. .. .that I promised to keep. At Twenty-Five, now . . . . .I have young of my own. Who need me to guide . . . And a secure happy home. A man of Thirty . .. . . . . My young now grown fast, Bound to each other . . .. With ties that should last. At Forty, my young sons .. .have grown and are gone, But my woman is beside me . . to see I don't mourn. At Fifty, once more, .. ...Babies play 'round my knee, Again, we know children . . . . My loved one and me. Dark days are upon me . . . . My wife is now dead. I look at the future ... . . . . I shudder with dread. For my young are all rearing .. . . young of their own. And I think of the years . . . And the love that I've known. I'm now an old man . . . . . . .. and nature is cruel. It's jest to make old age . . . . . . . look like a fool. The body, it crumbles .. .. . grace and vigor, depart. There is now a stone . . . where I once had a heart. But inside this old carcass . A young man still dwells, And now and again . . . . . my battered heart swells I remember the joys . . . . .. . I remember the pain. And I'm loving and living . . . . . . . life over again. I think of the years, all too few . . .. gone too fast. And accept the stark fact . . . that nothing can last. So open your eyes, people .. . . . .. . . open and see. Not a cranky old man . Look closer . . . . see .. .. . .. .... . ME!!

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Another patients beautiful poem

Bullies Felt No Guilt. Society Didn't Stop. They say you are perfect Yet behind your back, They say it was a lie. They call you fat They claim you are ugly They tell you That you are better off dead But did they realize That you took them literally? Did they see The scars as you flee? Did they care, That you were going to tear? Did they feel The guilt When you gave in And ended it? They didn’t stop Even when the cops Tried to stop Them . Them And Their torturous words. They never even cared That new scars laced Your once flawless skin. They never felt the pain That they caused you. Never felt the guilt When you ended it. They found someone else To do the same too Yet they ended it as well. Never did they feel Any pain or fear When they caused Even more, To end it for sure. Poem by @lemonadedoesnotmakeoranges

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On the edges of the body is where I stood,
trying to feel my way to the center.
For years, it was all I wanted.
Clawing at the small cells,
kicking in the bones to make room
for something more permanent.
And this morning, tired of my lips,
the way my hair will sometimes tilt
to one side, a lover of extremes,
every part of me, slanted
as if toward another body -
I no longer want the center:
this heart, or what's in it.
I want what isn't mine
and what will not last.
And yes, your heart will not last.

Self-Portrait Without the Self, Alex Dimitrov - in Alex Dimitrov, "Begging for It: Poems", 2013, Four Way Books.