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Poems On / About LOSS  12/1/2015 9:20:13 PM
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pushing, pushing, pushing upwards,
lifting, lifting, lifting, upwards.
watching, looking, the deep mass is flowing,
drowing, drowning, my mouth opening.
sinking, sinking
loss of breath, loss of breath.
watch me dying, watch me dying.
Beth Griffiths

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at a very weak point in my life, i was astounded to find a friend who really cared about me. as the story goes on, this friend wore a mask. I hate myself. Sleeping is a horrid state. reluctantly I enter it. In an induced way that it. Then the worst part of every day occurs. I wake. No. I will not commit suicide. Being sexually, mentally, and physically abused brings on the sik need to feel pain. Never thin. Never pretty. Never a social butterfly. The one with the mask clipped my wings. For a long time this person had me convinced that sex was how to pay for my rent and bills. Hating every step to the room where I laid on my belly perfectly still. Had to do my 'job'. Years passed. This wingless butterfly started to change. So focused I was. Constantly knocked back and floored. Knowledge was my secret attack. No longer would i lay on my belly for 58 seconds. Fell in love and then the love was gone. Still believing the masked one would be the dear friend I thought I had. I tried to seek compassion and understanding. Nothing is what I found. With himself inside of me, anything I said was profound. Mentally I snapped. Loss touch with the world and was alone. Then he turned on me. Blaming the loss of a potential relationship on me. No one would date him with a female roomy. Lies were spread like wi-fi. His family and friends threatened me physically, verbally, and posted horrid things on the web. I had to go is what he said. Well the newly changed me wanted to handle everything civilly. Now I sit in the dark. My face wet with tears. I want to fly. But my wings were clipped. Pain and agony is now. Hope I had once has flown away.Trust in another. A will to live. The fight in me. All are gone now. A wingless butterfly can not take flight.
neo riddick

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Loss Of Something

loss of something; and it was,
The road is patched at best,
Something gone older still,
No meaning had it to youth.

There the children played no part,
A moment in there hand, departs,
What once a wall and now a name,
Finding something missed for loss.
Is It Poetry

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Maybe the beauty is a loss,
I tend to think sometimes.
If so, life is even worse,
Than counterfeited dime.
Yes, beauty is around us,
But better be within.
Then loss is like a breaking glass,
We see ourselves in.
Lev Brekhman

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Poems On / About LOSS