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One of the ancients,once said that poetry is "the mirror of the perfect soul." Instead of simply writing down travel notes or, not really thinking about the consequences, expressing your thoughts, memories or on paper, the poetic soul needs to seriously work hard to clothe the perfect content in an even more perfect poetic form.
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What is poetry?


Reading books RomanceThe unity of form and content is what distinguishes poetry from other areas of creativity. However, this is precisely what titanic work implies.
Not every citizen can become a poet. If almost every one of us, at different times, under the influence of certain reasons or trends, was engaged in writing his thoughts, then it is unlikely that the vast majority will be able to admit to themselves that they are a poet.
Genre of poetry touches such strings in the human soul, the existence of which a person either didn’t suspect, or lowered them to the very bottom, intending to give them delight.


There are poets whose work, without exaggeration, belongs to the treasures of human thought and rightly is a world heritage. In our electronic library you will find a wide variety of poetry.
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Read books online » Poetry » The Mind of "M" by M.J. Garrett (free e novels .txt) 📖

Book online «The Mind of "M" by M.J. Garrett (free e novels .txt) 📖». Author M.J. Garrett



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that I give, the hate that I harbor…this is me!! This is the real me!! I fear no man…and I fear no god. This ugly soul, painted black by circumstance, is real. It is not to be hidden for anyone. I am imperfect and so are you. You judge me like I don’t know your sin. You find me ignorant and yet I know your bible better than you. You paint pictures of eternal torment as if you are not destined for the same dwelling. Point your finger at me…tell me that I’m wrong! Look down your noses and reveal your hate! I am your new charity? I am your project? NO!! I am the very thing you chose to forget…and yet, I am the one with open arms. I am the one that embraces those who fail at your ridiculous test. I love them no matter who they are or where they come from. I judge only those who refuse to see life for what it is…life! There is no battle…there is no war…there is only you and the rest of us. You are a dying, empty, tomb. You are the harlot. You are the sinner. You are the backstabbing minister. You!


My addiction



I revisit my past like a feen on a drug
So addicted to the pain, I can’t get enough
I inject it in my veins and let the high show up
My eyes roll back as my body tenses up
I bite so hard that my lip starts to bleed
Then I release my mind and let it go free

I remember your face as you force me down
You push my head back as my knees hit the ground
You grab my hair to keep my head still
You reach way back and strike for the kill
My eyes are so heavy from tears I don’t cry
This is what you made…you should’ve let me die

I’m so fucking high that my dreams become real
Faces of the past show me the life I can’t feel
10 minutes pass and I begin to float
I’ll stay this high if the rope doesn’t choke
Let the pain rush through, let it chill my skin
Let my eyes grow red, let them dilate again

Can you smell the sweat as it drips off my chin?
I shake from the shock as I come down again
My toes slowly touch and the rope loosens up
My jaw releases my lip and the blood begins to run
I open my eyes to see your not there
Is the past the only thing that will stay with me here?

I revisit my past like a feen on a drug
So addicted to the pain, I can’t get enough
I inject it in my veins and let the high show up
My eyes roll back as my body tenses up
I bite so hard that my lip starts to bleed
Then I release my mind and let it go free


Moments



We all have our moments. Moments of laughter often shelter and mask our feelings of lonely insignificance. We share moments of awkward silence because we can no longer be honest with ourselves or others. As we hide behind glass walls that balance truth with the illusion of power, pride, and questionable integrity; our smiles become signatures to our own lack of self worth. Smiling faces and eyes are no longer able to tell the story of our lives. The way they look at me when they don’t smile is the look I embrace. The look of doubt that they show me tell me more than they know. The way they hide tears of lost love behind their pretty smile lets me know that wounds have never healed. Some things this world has to offer are as constant as night and day. They are as dependable, and quite honestly, they are the one thing we wish would waiver. Heartache, pain, hatred, circumstance, and empty smiles accompanied by deceitful smiling eyes.

We have all become so analytical, viewing each slight as pawns in our constant parlay of irreversible chess. We become close to one another, not for comfort, but to place our daggers carefully. We use vulnerability to lure and minimize wounds while inflicting silent treason. We all have our moments. Maybe the best moments for me were shared with someone else? Maybe the best moments for you were hidden and lost translation? We all have our moments.


Solitude has it's disadvantages.



The smallest thing seems to bring an emotional burn to my nose. My eyes are so weary from holding back the tears that have been hidden for so many years. I see so many smiles on so many faces and I wonder why I can’t smile. I don’t understand why I keep twisting this emotional dagger that resides in my chest. The world wants so much of me and I don’t think I have what it wants. I’ve pushed myself to be the best at whatever it is I try to accomplish…sometimes my best gets overshadowed by my inability to hide my honesty from those who don’t need to hear the truth.

I’m so tired of lying to myself about every precise move that I fail take. What used to be moves that weighed the smallest amount of emotional trauma have now become life and death issues. Every bad decision has been stretched to think that the world is coming to an end. Every good decision has been overshadowed by the thought that this glorious moment will soon end and I am the end result. Life, as well as death, depends on my every decision. The stress of having to make the right decision weighs so much that the stress alone cannot be lifted by a mere man of my frail stature.

I think I have been out matched. My mind has been stretched to its limits and I don’t think I have the emotional fortitude to continue this fight against my reality. I keep searching for the one that understands me, the one that knows where I am, the one who can help me…not by being strong or mentally tough, but by example. I know you have seen where I am. I know you feel that vulnerability and insecurity. I know you choose not to forget, but like me, you chose to embrace it. I don’t know if I can be as strong as you…I need your help! I have thoughts that I’ve never owned before. Thoughts of such grave consequences and I don’t know how to deal with them. They are the voices I embrace…my only guidance. That is, until your voice became clearer…but I think I’m imaging your voice too.


Last word



My mind has become twisted with enlightened reality
Thoughts so provocative and visions of blooming hypocrisy
I have the urge to wake and assume my history
Jagged pills of past mistakes have never gone down so easily
I could fly so high with misguided fury
So tempted to learn about the metallic taste of my misery
Beautiful to some has become so rigid and fake
Beauty to me is flawed honesty mixed with your worst mistake
Create a world worth loving that bends it’s rules for religion
I will find a way to kill your spirit or at least blame me for your decision
Forgiveness comes when blood has been spilled
So I’ll paint the walls with mine and hope your soul is thrilled


A chance is worth the effort



It took what seemed to be forever…but you found me. You looked for me? You looked for me! I don’t know why…but you did. I hope you like what you see. I hope that this is what you were looking for. I know that I need some work. I’ve been through some long weary days, but in the end, I am still the same person you remembered and thought I would be. Well, maybe not the same…I’m not very optimistic and I don’t smile like I used to. I don’t laugh as much either…but there isn’t as much comedy as their used to be. I don’t cry either! Maybe that is a good thing? Maybe I need to? I don’t even look the same! Well, maybe the outer shell looks the same, but inside…I’m not very healthy. My eyes hide pain and pour out resentment. Sarcasm has become my defense and hatred has become my only weapon. I think that if you look hard enough, you’ll find me. I’m still here! Somewhere underneath this horrible frail mask of bitterness…I’m there, waiting to be rescued. Waiting to be understood and nurtured. I might need to be mended and patched up…but with a little bit of care, I can be the person you remember. I want to be him…I want to save him…I need to save him! Can I be saved? Not by gods or beliefs…but saved from myself? Am I still worth it? I can be him!! Just give me a chance!! That’s all I ask…for the chance!!


In the midst of your hour



I can see your vulnerability
I understand your frame of mind
I can feel every tear
And I understand why you hide
You are so frail
You are so misunderstood
You try to hide from truth
And you embraced the pain you could

In the midst of your hour
You can save my soul
You can heal my shattered spirit
You have the power to make me whole
With one touch of your hand
With one breath on your lips
With one word from your heart
You could end this….

Marred together and bound
We share so many scars
We traveled the same path
Although worlds apart
We have the past to get over
We have the future to embrace
We have each others pain
And we have forever to replace


How far will I go?



There’s a strange feeling in my soul…I can’t find the source
So many places to hide, so many unopened doors
I’m lost in my own head.
Echoes of delusion have planted these pictures in my head
I can see you smile, I can hear you laugh
I can smell your skin and yet I hide in my own wrath
Your eyes glisten so bright, so forgetful you seem
I wonder what it’s like so over and over I scream
Pictures turn to voices and they aren’t as clear
I like the visions…it’s the unbridled anger I fear
They tell me I could never find the places they hide
Screaming secrets of the past, savagely raping my mind
All the innocence have fallen to the scars of my past
Cut the ties that bind and hope the bleeding doesn’t last
How far will this go? Please, make it stop
I know my limits, I can’t stay in this spot
“STOP!!” I cover my ears and begin to yell.
I sweat profusely as I engage my own personal hell
Veins begin to swell and my eyes go red
“PLEASE, MAKE IT STOP!!” I’d rather be fucking dead
I know where you are…they will hurt you if I don’t listen
They want me to

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