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Nostalgia>Anger
Since Nostalgia is a longing for something that has already happened. It's a linger which is way more dangerous than anger to me because anger is a direct hit that is usually settled once they see some impact. Nostalgia on the other hand, is a linger from time that has passed to be the same as it was then but holds hope of change once you revisit the situation.
Janky
Her name is Janky
She is a middle school kid that lives with her grandmother.
Janky wears her favorite pink shirt when she hangs with her friends.
She wears light blue Levi jeans with the knees out. She wears blue converse sneakers and a blue Yankees hat with a ponytail hanging out back. She hangs with one other girl and three boys. Yes, she's a tomboy.
The name Janky came from her auntie. When she was small, people would try to pick her up, she would rudely jank back. Thus, leaving her with the name Janky.
4 Give U
Okay to forgive is divine.
So say the sunshine.
Or over a nice glass of wine.
You said you love me forever .
Then you cheated with whomever.
Yet you want to stay together.
With God's will it will be his way.
So I will forgive you today.
But it don't guarantee that I'll stay.
I'm more than just picture on a wall.
You should've thought of me before the bathroom stall.
I do forgive you but. . .
The relationship will fall.
I deserve better.
Mentàl
What I am about to say,
I mean no harm.
It became serious to me
When she stabbed me in the arm.
I always thought that mental
Was just being mean.
Until the day,
The grass wasn't green.
The sky wasn't blue
But it all seems red.
An argument started on
Every word that I said.
I leave the room
My narcissist followed.
I was screamed at so much
Til my head seemed hollow.
I grabbed my keys
And headed for the door.
I heard a thump and shatter
As my picture hit the floor.
I turned around and headed
Back to my room .
I got stabbed in the arm
By a broken broom.
Blood started gushing
I was about to faint.
Then she ran to me
Talking like a saint.
Was that not you that
Went off on me?
Is this blood or Kool aid
That I see?
She rushed me to the hospital
Cool and calm.
She lied about how
She hurt my arm.
Mental health is so serious
We surely don't have a clue.
How something so violent
Could end in "Baby, I love you."
Neverending
Po-et
Poetry will never leave
From life as it is.
Poetry form a platform
Of how our life is lived.
From waking up tired
one beautiful morning.
But going to bed excited
With repetitive yarning.
Seeing the world one way
And another in reverse.
To liking what you do ,
And not just calling it WORK.
All is an art of poetry
Never to be seen the same way.
Poetry makes you a Poet
That's all I have to say.
Must-Have
Crazy but true
I will tell you about a champ.
How a spoon full of mustard
Stop my leg cramp.
My ancestors told me
when I was young
That getting a cramp
Was NO FUN.
I paid her no mine and
Went out to play.
I flew back in the house
With a leg cramp that day.
My muscle was balled up,
On my leg was a knot.
My grandma gave me mustard
And it stopped on the spot
I couldn't believe my eyes
But I was living proof.
I looked at my grandma
Like a giant goof.
To this day
If I get a cramp
I grab the yellow bottle
The Mustard Champ!
A Story In The Clouds
As I sat on my porch each and every day.
I look up to the clouds where a simple story is told.
I stare at the sky to see a story pass my way.
A cloud shaped like a cowboy hat and the shape of a barrel of hay,
Rolled across wide and bold.
The story is sat for this day.
Fluffy cloud with rabbit feet
seems like the month of May.
I love watching them as they move a million stories untold.
Often seen in a soundless way.
There is always a story up there and you hope that it will stay.
The sky is gloomy when it's cold.
This scene is busy throughout the day.
At night the clouds are low tone,
they are all lead astray.
But even though the brightness is on hold,
The beauty in the story stays that way.
So the next time you sit on your porch and watch the clouds as they play.
The story you see is never old.
There is always a different story
on that day.
But sometimes they float in a different way.
Sad Eyes
A sadness in her eyes
Holds truth.
Don't question it, no disguise.
The way her smile slides,
Like a pair of boots.
You could see it in her eyes.
A faded tear holds lies.
She don't give a hoot.
Her misery is no disguise.
She smiles, but tries
Not to seem too loose.
The mystery lingers in her eyes.
The time for pain flies.
No end or truce.
She didn't need a disguise.
Instead she cries.
Ended all that she went through.
The sadness left her eyes.
Happiness was now her disguise.
Is life Alive?
What keeps me going is God. He is the reason a suicide do or don't succeed. He mapped out your life for you, no surprises. Evil thoughts controls the pain you suffer within, but your final ticket is cashed by God no matter what. There are no promises on how long you will live. There are no promises on how you will leave. You are here to bless someone even if it's only for a second, and your job was done, just know it was meant to be that way. Bad things happen to good people as we see from our eyes. But if you understand that they came here with an expiration date, you would then know that their job was done and now they are living in another world at another time. You should then know that our souls never die, we go on to the next life. So until your job is done you should be the best at being you! Huggers my friend.