I am just in case, Poetry by Callie Kamanitz

 Genre: Personality

I am a cat lover
A brunette covered
Head with bright and shiny thoughts.
I am an older sister
I am a never misser
Until I do.
I am a giver
From a mom who shivers
For me so I don’t have to worry
But I do anyways.
I am attention seeking
Pretending that peeking
From behind the curtains makes me nervous
Because I think it should.
I am an open book
But only when you look
To take off the dust cover.
I like to hide
But more to seek
Because hiding results in loss
And you can only win when searching.
I am searching abroad
For the endless applause
That I pretend means nothing
Because it should
But it means everything to me.
I am a baker, not a cook
Hidden far into the nook
Of unfinished projects bluffing perfection
Because unfinished is just an
F in the end.
I am just a mess
Who happens to be best dressed
For the label of success
I am a pretender
Who can only begin
When the curtains close
And the performance really starts.
I am a redeemer
From coupon codes to
Emotions wrapped within
The chains of a murderer.
I am innocence
Born from maturity
Unknown to most
Known well to few
Fully to none.
I am exploring the uncharted
As long as the uncharted is understood.
I am taking risks
As long as the risks are safe.
I am a contradiction
Wrapped up in a neat little bow
With so many atoms moving at once
No one can tell they are moving at all.
I am selfless
And not magnanimous
I am priceless
And not worth it
I am the whispers in the morning
And the screams in the night.
They both say the same thing.
The windows brings the whispers
The steam brings the screams.
They both say the same thing.
Bolstered by the cacophony of
Mellow melodies
Picked just for me- how fitting
That I choose to break.
For most, breaking is the event, mending is the choice
I choose to break and mending is a concert full of
People and interaction and light
That I put off and wait to be invited to
But my friends aren’t interested in that band
And I don’t care enough to seem them live.
I am the earth
Impacted by the storm, wind, fire
But not by the earthquakes
Because I made them and I know they
Can’t do too much
Even if they can.
I am a yearbook
Opened when someone gets lonely
And reminisces about how good it was
And how much they miss it
I am the hour hand on a clock
Often mistaken for the famous minute
Only noticed when someone wastes time
But always around just in case.
I am the fire extinguisher in an ocean
I am the band-aid in an operating room
I am the just in case never needed.

 

 

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System Scan, Poetry by R.H.M. Wilde

Genres: Disassociation, Personality, Pressure, Technology, Anxiety Disorder, Panic Attack, Mechanical vs Emotional, Gray Area.

System Scan
by R.H.M. Wilde

Data found.

Loading…

Please Wait…

Processing…

…….

Error.

File Corrupt.

Searching for a solution.

Full System Defragmentation recommended. Create Restore Point?

Everything’s slowed down. I have to remind myself to breathe.

Please Wait…

My entire body feels so heavy. I can hardly lift my head.

Restore Point Successfully Created.

Behind my eyes my mind is whirling.

Continue with Full System Defragmentation?

Everything’s being studied all at once, everywhere.

Please Wait…

How can I think so clearly when there’s so much noise?

Do not turn off or unplug your system.

I can still hear you.

Please close all other programs to maximize efficiency.

I can still see you.

Memory files successfully stored in vault.

I just can’t seem to feel anything.

Request invalid. The server is busy.

My body is just going through the motions.

Estimated time remaining…

UNKNOWN

I’m alive, and I know it.

Inactive.

But it’s hard to keep moving.

Backlight will go out in five.

I’m just tired.

Entering Sleep Mode.

I’ll feel better when I wake up.

Defragmentation will not be interrupted.

Just give me two hours.

…….

Complete.

Would you like to restart now?

There, now. Things got clear again.

Verify Username and Password.

Nothing feels so unbearable anymore.

System Fully Restored.

I’m alright.

Welcome!

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

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Zoo Love, Poetry by Ralph Monday

Genre: Personality, Life, Society

Zoo Love
by Ralph Monday

Four of them, four tattoos
in the dream, riding my back
like the four horsemen of the
apocalypse.

They were unwelcome tramp
stamps—one, two men looking
at a book, two others just blurred
words, and the last a huge zoo love
tramp stamped onto my lower back.

All were black bruises outlined
in heavy black shading. Upset
that someone had chosen these
for me, and I had to live with them.

Was I the book the men were trying
to read? Or, the two a dichotomy of
self asshole gazing at me as text?

Then, the letters rearranged from
zoo love produce leo, loo, ole, oleo,
ooze, vole, masks for the hidden self?

The zoo that I am in, the four tats
four sides walling me in, the zoo love
nothing but a bad colposcopy.

Animals in that zoo, the leo who takes
center stage, the vole scurrying about
unnoticed except as prey.

My deep, dark mind oozing sediments
of desire, fleshly fissures layered on
my brain like geological deposits.

Or, animals surrounding me like
gardened Eve before an unnecessary
fig.

Only one thing to do—go to the
parlor and get needled with zoo love.
I’m already a marked animal.

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Ralph Monday is Associate Professor of English at Roane State Community College in Harriman, TN., and has published hundreds of poems in over 50 journals. A chapbook, All American Girl and Other Poems, was published in July 2014. A book Empty Houses and American Renditions was published May 2015 by Aldrich Press. A Kindle chapbook Narcissus the Sorcerer was published June 2015 by Odin Hill Press.

http://www.ralphmonday.com/

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

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(Pseudo) Pseudo Assist, Poetry by Stephanie Kay

Genre: cocky, funny, hurt, life, personality, and sad

(Pseudo) Pseudo Assist
by Stephanie Kay

I keep telling people that they will be okay
and that’s fucking hilarious because I am
not okay, but here I am with a handful
of comfort that feels like gravy powder
and a fistful of verbal reassurance more like
a stick of salami after squeezing it, reddish
brown bits seeping between my fingers.
I’m holding these things out to people
saying Here, it’s fine! Take these things and
be okay! There’s tons of this stuff, look, I
have tons of it! When really I’ve been just
let out jail for shoplifting things I need
to make other people feel a little whole.
I don’t know, buddy, it’s all I’ve got, I say.
Rain or something falls into the gravy dust
and activates its liquid form, so now its
running down my arm and nobody wants
anything to do with it or me or my weird
hands of comfort food. Brush them off on
my pants and wash them separate from
everything else, trying to tell people you
can’t keep begging for rain and reach
for an umbrella.

White Propaganda, Poetry by SM CADMAN

Genre: Personality/Society

White Propaganda
by SM CADMAN

Lies.
What do we tell ourselves…?
When reading between the lines
Absent from our unconscious signs
But displayed across our faces
Revealing blatant microexperessions
Attempting to amuse and satisfy
Our inner brutish critics we secretly glorify
Just to deceive an equally flawed audience

Lies.
What do we tell ourselves…?
To cover all of our bases
To reveal only our pleasant social graces
Pacifying inner silent fleshy rules
Our truths never barefaced among
Fettered pieces of our desperation
Collected only to placate cultural disambiguation
Parlaying pieces of tattered bluff

Lies.
What do we tell ourselves…?
That unawareness already made visible
A view from nowhere newly divisible
A confabulation created by a selected few
To confuse and censor an entire civilization
For an economy stitched together by debt
From wars between factions that pose no threat
A cohesive individual and collective indoctrination

Lies.
What do we really tell ourselves?

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