Welcome to The Poet's Home! This blog will be a collection of poetry, prose, and other musings... Original content will be tagged as such (#originalcontent). This blog is based in Portland, Oregon.

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Original Content by The Poet's Home: AI is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

 

thepoetshome:

Our perception is everything 
And Life is a break
From the default state.
No perception is nothing,
From inception it’s fated.
We sprint toward death
With baited breath,
Only knowing the taste
Of being elated.

Like the empty space
Within a vase,
Life of the drug,
The thirst never sated.
Call the addict a thug
Just cuz he gets faded.
We Don’t understand 
So we hate it.

Hate -
It’s tactical.
The mind gets raided
With exclamations -
Theatrical.

The powers that be
Tell me 
To ban the truth.
Battle you
So we don’t see
The lies lying within 
Written in the eyes of the
Enemy.

If I fight endlessly,
I can ignore
The darkness that tore
Through the rest of me.

The rest of me.

The parts at war
With an unknown enemy.
Notations in clouds,
High above at ten to three.
Shorn by heavy rounds 
From the tree, 
A leaf drifting helplessly 
Through space
Temporally.

These are stories from generations to follow,
Shared orally.

These are cries for graves found hollow 
Of souls that burn,
Walking the earth
Outside their urn.

And yet, I yearn
That not a single tear should fall
Or discover the ruins 
Behind each and every bloodwashed wall.

No answer from the shadow panther
Who ignores no call,
But hides in the corner 
Amidst the moss on the baby doll,
As if we were born there,
Lost in the art of the glare,
Of forgetting how to stand tall.

I forget,
I’ve forgot.
We’ll never know
The glow
Of appreciating 
That final remediating 
Blow

After all.

- At War With No Enemy

http://thepoetshome.tumblr.com/post/91018855965/at-war-with-no-enemy

Our perception is everything 
And Life is a break
From the default state.
No perception is nothing,
From inception it’s fated.
We sprint toward death
With baited breath,
Only knowing the taste
Of being elated.

Like the empty space
Within a vase,
Life of the drug,
The thirst never sated.
Call the addict a thug
Just cuz he gets faded.
We Don’t understand 
So we hate it.

Hate -
It’s tactical.
The mind gets raided
With exclamations -
Theatrical.

The powers that be
Tell me 
To ban the truth.
Battle you
So we don’t see
The lies lying within 
Written in the eyes of the
Enemy.

If I fight endlessly,
I can ignore
The darkness that tore
Through the rest of me.

The rest of me.

The parts at war
With an unknown enemy.
Notations in clouds,
High above at ten to three.
Shorn by heavy rounds 
From the tree, 
A leaf drifting helplessly 
Through space
Temporally.

These are stories from generations to follow,
Shared orally.

These are cries for graves found hollow 
Of souls that burn,
Walking the earth
Outside their urn.

And yet, I yearn
That not a single tear should fall
Or discover the ruins 
Behind each and every bloodwashed wall.

No answer from the shadow panther
Who ignores no call,
But hides in the corner 
Amidst the moss on the baby doll,
As if we were born there,
Lost in the art of the glare,
Of forgetting how to stand tall.

I forget,
I’ve forgot.
We’ll never know
The glow
Of appreciating 
That final remediating 
Blow

After all.

- At War With No Enemy

http://thepoetshome.tumblr.com/post/91018855965/at-war-with-no-enemy

Anonymous asked
When was the last time yuu were in love ?. How did yuu know ?.

Well this is an interesting question. Love is a weird thing, and it’s easy to mistake strong feelings of closeness, yearning, intimacy, attachment, and caring for someone with love sometimes. The first and only time I have been in love was in 2012. The feelings I experienced were not necessarily stronger than the attachments I have felt toward others. But there is something about love specifically, that for me, had a depth to it I have never felt with anyone else. I understood that person and felt connected and open to them on an incredibly deep level. I personally felt her depth and essence, what you might call the soul. I felt like her soul and mine were intimately connected on a basic level. And we shared our souls with each other. I knew her and, despite any faults, accepted her completely. I believe the same was true on her part. And it wasn’t just accepting in the bare sense of the term (like tolerating) but truly internalizing and internally validating everything about her: passions, emotions, interests, weaknesses, strengths, essence.

Love: Depth and acceptance.

If you really want to know more about how I felt (I can’t imagine you would but whatever), you can read stuff tagged love (these are actually works not all by me tagged #love, but you can also look through my poems to find my love poems). I don’t believe I expressed it perfectly, but language is too limited to be able to. I always tried to be honest and open about it, so maybe you’ll catch a glimpse of love, or at least what it was for me.

Never Enough

thepoetshome:

A teenager approached me tonight. I was sitting in the parking lot outside the 7-11, drinking a small coffee and reading. I had just finished a cigarette, leaving my rolling tobacco and papers next to me on the hard, dirty curb. He sat down next to me and spoke with as much confidence as he could muster.

"Hey man, could you buy me a pack?"

I looked up, taken by surprise. “Buy you a pack?” He saw my confusion and offered some clarification.

"I mean, I’ll pay you for it. I have cash."

[Please click below to read the remainder of my first nonfiction work of prose]

Read More

Dear Financial Aid Office: A Poem of Struggle and Blessed Success

thepoetshome:

andsemicolon:

andsemicolon:

Please post my financial aid package now, it was supposed to be out three weeks ago and I am checking the website twice a day now because tuition bills went out yesterday and it would be really nice to know how much of that we need to…

Never Enough

thepoetshome:

A teenager approached me tonight. I was sitting in the parking lot outside the 7-11, drinking a small coffee and reading. I had just finished a cigarette, leaving my rolling tobacco and papers next to me on the hard, dirty curb. He sat down next to me and spoke with as much confidence as he could muster.

"Hey man, could you buy me a pack?"

I looked up, taken by surprise. “Buy you a pack?” He saw my confusion and offered some clarification.

"I mean, I’ll pay you for it. I have cash."

[Please click below to read the remainder of my first nonfiction work of prose]

Read More

Never Enough

A teenager approached me tonight. I was sitting in the parking lot outside the 7-11, drinking a small coffee and reading. I had just finished a cigarette, leaving my rolling tobacco and papers next to me on the hard, dirty curb. He sat down next to me and spoke with as much confidence as he could muster.

"Hey man, could you buy me a pack?"

I looked up, taken by surprise. “Buy you a pack?” He saw my confusion and offered some clarification.

"I mean, I’ll pay you for it. I have cash."

[Please click below to read the remainder of my first nonfiction work of prose]

Read More

And how hard is it to land even a minimum-wage job? This year, the Ivy League college admissions acceptance rate was 8.9%. Last year, when Walmart opened its first store in Washington, D.C., there were more than 23,000 applications for 600 jobs, which resulted in an acceptance rate of 2.6%, making the big box store about twice as selective as Harvard and five times as choosy as Cornell. Telling unemployed people to get off their couches (or out of the cars they live in or the shelters where they sleep) and get a job makes as much sense as telling them to go study at Harvard.

I didn’t realize it, but the days came along one after another, and then two years were gone, and everything was gone, and I was gone.

F. Scott Fitzgerald  (via thatkindofwoman)

(Source: stxxz.us)

Dear Financial Aid Office: A Poem of Struggle and Blessed Success

andsemicolon:

andsemicolon:

Please post my financial aid package now, it was supposed to be out three weeks ago and I am checking the website twice a day now because tuition bills went out yesterday and it would be really nice to know how much of that we need to pay

Also it would be really nice to know how much time I need to budget for work during the school year

Blarg

I appreciate that Financial Aid Office is doing the best they can but please

I’m sorry, financial aid office, I meant no slight

Please forgive me

Please don’t have been checking this tag

That would be so awkward

I got the award decision like 5 minutes after posting this

My family cannot pay as many dollars as you have requested

Dear financial aid office,

My parents sent in a request

A reevaluation to challenge your test:

We had hopes for the best.

Dear financial aid office, 

I checked my email

And I yelled, “YES!”

This time you did not fail,

Helping us when you were needed most.

This is not a boast,

But simply a quiet toast

To those who have less:

We always had hopes for the best.

- Dear Financial Aid Office: A Poem of Struggle and Blessed Success, AI

bessibels:

neverbat:

mylittledraenei:

blue-author:

addictinginfo:

Minimum wage should be linked to the poverty level. 

This is basic economic fact.
A business that claims it can’t afford to pay a living wage to its workers is admitting that by definition it fails to meet its basic operating expenses. That major multinational corporations can be “successful” while failing to meet a basic operating expense is only possible because We The People pick up their greedy/lazy slack through taxes and charity. 
And yet somehow it’s everybody else who’s a moocher and a looter…
And this corrosive greed is a big part of what’s slowly poisoning the U.S. economy. Money being hoarded at the top and put in “safe” investments and bank accounts is money that does nothing for no one. It’s just an elaborate means of keeping score. Money put into the hands of the workers does what money is meant to do: it circulates. It gets spent. The same dollar will go through dozens of sets of hands, touching dozens of lives, feeding dozens of people and sparking profits for dozens of businesses. The same dollar, in the hands of the rich, will generally do… nothing. It won’t create jobs. It won’t fund innovations. It won’t start businesses.
Less than 1% of corporate revenues become wages for workers. Less than 3% of the wealthy are actually entrepreneurs (people who risk their money on business ventures that create jobs). 
But 100% of the working class spends their money. That money creates jobs. That money fuels innovations. That money becomes profits. That money keeps the economy ticking.
We have been lied to about who are the parasites and who are the drivers of the economy. We have largely accepted a view of money as a means of keeping score and the economy as something that must have winners and losers, rather than money being a proxy for barter and an economy being a way to divide the labor of society and distribute the load of living

#poverty #classism

"A business that claims it can’t afford to pay a living wage to its workers is admitting that by definition it fails to meet its basic operating expenses."

"Less than 1% of corporate revenues become wages for the workers."

bessibels:

neverbat:

mylittledraenei:

blue-author:

addictinginfo:

Minimum wage should be linked to the poverty level. 

This is basic economic fact.

A business that claims it can’t afford to pay a living wage to its workers is admitting that by definition it fails to meet its basic operating expenses. That major multinational corporations can be “successful” while failing to meet a basic operating expense is only possible because We The People pick up their greedy/lazy slack through taxes and charity. 

And yet somehow it’s everybody else who’s a moocher and a looter…

And this corrosive greed is a big part of what’s slowly poisoning the U.S. economy. Money being hoarded at the top and put in “safe” investments and bank accounts is money that does nothing for no one. It’s just an elaborate means of keeping score. Money put into the hands of the workers does what money is meant to do: it circulates. It gets spent. The same dollar will go through dozens of sets of hands, touching dozens of lives, feeding dozens of people and sparking profits for dozens of businesses. The same dollar, in the hands of the rich, will generally do… nothing. It won’t create jobs. It won’t fund innovations. It won’t start businesses.

Less than 1% of corporate revenues become wages for workers. Less than 3% of the wealthy are actually entrepreneurs (people who risk their money on business ventures that create jobs). 

But 100% of the working class spends their money. That money creates jobs. That money fuels innovations. That money becomes profits. That money keeps the economy ticking.

We have been lied to about who are the parasites and who are the drivers of the economy. We have largely accepted a view of money as a means of keeping score and the economy as something that must have winners and losers, rather than money being a proxy for barter and an economy being a way to divide the labor of society and distribute the load of living

#poverty #classism

"A business that claims it can’t afford to pay a living wage to its workers is admitting that by definition it fails to meet its basic operating expenses."

"Less than 1% of corporate revenues become wages for the workers."