trashed/deleted

They were 

worthy 

To be trashed…

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posts!!!

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It is a choice…

There wasn’t an
overwhelming need
to say anything
and she never 
quite understood why
except for she, her experience
as to why nothing much to say
is…she just didn’t want to
and so too she thinks
most people are the same!

yet If you desire it…the want strong

there is a choice…
there is a way(s)…

I guess he just didn’t
 have a strong desire 
so chose to not find a way

bare…

Somedays

I am are left without color

in stark contrast

slipping into dark

smoked lined eyes

nude my shade

touching pale lips

dimming light

shadows my confidant

I lay bare on hazy lines

dare not cross into your hours

with eyes full of confession

days into nights

fall afar

little bits of time

soak into the grain of wood

here I am

near you

felled silently

#novemberfalls #hazyday @breath_words @aseawords 
#handwritten #poetry #poetsofinstagram #poetsofig 
#poetryofinstagram #poetry #poeticsighs #smokeyeyes #nudelips #somedays #slient #spillingink #heartspiller

heart like this…heavy  love

Many hours 
have I been
as this 
coagulated 
gummed 
trying to lift my love
out of the slurry 
of the deeper well
I have perfected 
eviceration
many written blood moons
phases of a heart like this
I lay open altered
sacrificial 
slabbed and stuck
ruptured
wildfire seeping through
ripped scars
my blood runs
a long trail
of heavy love

So my 14 in history class had to write a poem about the trail of tears…indian removal act of 1838. 

This is her poem… so beautifully stunning!

Bitter Wind By: Madeleine B. 

I am a member of the Cherokee Tribe in 1838

I wonder if the white men see us shed our tears

I hear the scrape of the shovel hit the cold, hard ground

I see shallow, impersonal graves

I am a member of the Cherokee Tribe in 1838

I pretend not to feel the rough wind bite at my face

I feel bitter inside, my hatred grows for these people

I touch the bark of the trees as we pass them,their roughness reminds me of home

I worry for my people as their knees hit the ground

I cry silently at night so only the stars can hear me, so only the dead hear me

I am a member of the Cherokee Tribe in 1838

I understand sorrow, something i have never felt before this moment

I say that i will return home one day

I dream of the peaceful waters as they reflect the glare of the burning sun

I try to block the cold from my sister as her body laid ridged

I hope i will one day see our old ways flourish again

I am a member of the Cherokee Tribe in 1838