The Art Of Letting – Promote Yourself

 

Here we are again, trying to work through our problems

I’m  sorry that I’m not perfect,

I mess things up. Get the truth screwed

Up.

What do you want me to do?

Always run to you?

But you have to remember that you might be leaving me,

Crashing my whole world to the ground.

I ask you questions, you can’t give me answers

Just like it’s always been

All the way up to now.

I ask you if you want me to go,

But you don’t know the answer.

I ask you if you want to be free,

You say you can’t live without me.

You say I portray you as having no emotions,

But I know that’s not true.

If you had no emotions I would already be over you.

It’s clear to me that I’ll never see where you’re coming from.

I can still try,

I look inside that brain of yours.

I see all the hurt,

I see all the pain I caused.

And I feel even more broken inside,

Crying out my eyes

Just can’t let you go,

And you know it’s true.

Why did we start this if you were always just going to leave me for

Him.

You say, girl, we can always be together,

I can only be with him for so long.

It’s a never-ending song that we sing

But I am a little tired of singing along.

Feel like you’re just stringing me along.

The thing is, I can’t leave you,

Whilst there is still a slight chance

That you will pick me

Instead of that totally different dance.

But last night you went

And crushed all of my hope

Yet here I am

Today

Using Google Chat to talk about another guy that you’re into

And how you’re all confused.

Don’t you ever think that I’m confused, too?

Now, I know that you will read this

And say your special little phrase

But I can’t help my feelings

When I repress them in front of you every day.

Gabriell Engel

 

UNEXPLAINED POSSESSION -Promote Yourself

 

Today I was aware of a presence within me

A presence not my own

Someone, something inhabiting my mind

A possession which now seems to have flown

 

The racing feeling in my head

Like a nausea of the mind

Someone sifting through my thoughts

Was it the first and only time?

 

It was an unsettling experience

The unusual and unknown fed discomfort

But the aftermath is twice the unease

An emptiness, a void, a conundrum

 

CarlyLou

 

http://carlylou89.wordpress.com/2014/05/24/unexplained-possession/

“An Invitation” – Promote Yourself

I.
The newly renovated house of Fame
Now welcomes those who once remained obscure.
There need not be a talent that you claim,
Such as painting or discovering a cure.
If people like your clothes or fam’ly name,
Of endless press and cash you can be sure.
With luck you might become a superstar
No matter how inane and vile you are.

“Paths to the House of Fame”
II.
The journey’s smoothest for the young and lean.
First, make then leak a kinky video
And claim it was intended to be seen
By no one but your dearest Romeo.
The Lady Fame will crown you Drama Queen,
And have you join the House’s newest show.
You’ll know you’ve made it to the House’s top
When fans are paying just to watch you shop.
III.
A song might take you to the House’s stair.
Although you sound just like an ill raccoon,
You have no reason, darlings, to despair
Or practice scales and “Fly Me to the Moon.”
Undress your body ‘til it’s nearly bare,
Then dress your naked voice in auto-tune.
You’ll rise on every major music chart
By learning how to dress and play the part.

IV.
Some find the place where Lady Fame resides
By seeming to defiantly rebel.
Tattoos that cover all but their insides
Proclaim they’re demons full of raging Hell—
As do their raps on drugs and homicides
And wicked words they normally misspell.
Although they think their ways to be unique,
Their breed of fish would crowd the largest creek.

https://paulwhitberg.wordpress.com/2014/06/23/fame-pts-i-iv/

ON OBLIVIOUSNESS – Promote Yourself

 
Seven billion global citizens; all but oblivious to one another. But to the extent that any 
two or more share, in #twitterfiction, space-time-continuity …
 
… i.e., but when we touch, see, hear, smell, taste or otherwise surreally perceive another,
we are oblivious, in #twitterfiction … to our brother. 
 
The internet is, in #twitterfiction, the God-given conduit whereby we might alchemically 
transcend to global peace … and global … prosperity.
 
In #twitterfiction,we need to do what is only seemingly impossible; the abnegation of surrealities, 
like nationality in favor of the exaltation … of our humanity.
 
Time, in #twitterfiction, for Truth and Reconciliation; whether you think we can get it done 
or you think we can’t, you’re absolutely … right … on.
 
See @chachomanopapa on Twitter, and chachomanopapa.wordpress.com., its blog-log analog, 
for poetry, in #twitterfiction, about history, from tweets, and a blog.
 
Poems melding Ovid’s and Emily’s; in poems to (wo)men about change, otherworldly visionaries
in #twitterfiction ask: Of what good are borders … and nationalities? 
 
By Miguel Vera from Puerto Rico

https://www.chachomanopapa.wordpress.com

https://www.facebook.com/chacho.manopapa

@chachomanopapa on Twitter

Stone – Promote Yourself

Don’t I have blood?

Don’t I bleed?

I am human

Can’t you see?

Stop scratching

Stop attacking

Cause one day

this shell will be empty

My humanity will be gone

Once human forever  stone

 

Nuura Axmed

A winters night

A Summer’s breeze

A Winter’s night 

A Spring leaf An Autumn bright 

These are the things I no longer see,

Due to the things that haunt me

A torn limb, shattered bones,

Broken dreams and awful wounds

Why should one forego these scenes?

Learn again to live your dreams 

Cooling breeze on a summer’s night 

A roaring fire, curled up tight 

Dew drops on flowered fields 

Falling leaves into piles I can dream,

I can hope For old scenes to help me cope

One new day I shall see,

Old welcome memories

 But for now, I can only see,

new scenes that taunt me

In my dreams, in my head,

haunting things full of dread

Of a life lived too fast,

Wishing to regain my past

Something good and something fresh

A bright new view for me to look to,

A whole new world for my future……

Dan Fry

NOTTINGHAM POET