Covering

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Joy feels like exposure to the harshest elements.
In showing it you become a pawn
in the game of advantage
like taken of that is.

Allowing happiness to make an appearance,
well, that’s just a sin.
“Be humble, accept things with grace,” they said.
As they shushed my feelings out of jealousy.

Feeling like a kernel doubling in size,
well, that’s just ruinous.
“Let’s not have a grandiose, public display,” they said.
As they swatted my butt out of anger.

Having intensity acknowledged on the surface,
well, that’s just suicide.
“Behave yourself!” they said.
As they locked me away with a pious vengeance.

Where did it ever get me to give a voice
to what bubbles up happy tears and excitement?
Hide your feelings, stomp them down reactions was all I ever got.
Because no one really wanted to meet the real me.

At The Heart Of It

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the calamity
weighed down
forcing
the innards
out

revealing
wounds
unleashing
the crying girl
in the corner

where she’d long
swallowed
the grief
fear and shame
the lakes of tears

the eruption
of emotions
expanding
her chest cavity
burgeoning

so much
pain
pain
pain
and more pain

murky depths
led
to the dark matter
filling
the hole within

the rage
agitated hate
the injustice
trapped
and bubbling

the fear of implosion
imminent
the voices
of the past
scolding

an excruciating wait
for the release
from
this
hell

At Play

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A
brightness
permeates
in and around
the air. So joyous,
feeling light and free now.
Let’s enjoy this wondrous time.
Come play like in our youth again.
No one and nothing could bring us down.
Do you remember how you felt back then?
We escaped into our own little worlds.
Fantasies filled with fresh scenery.
Everything was possible then.
Rich daydreams colored our world.
Sun, fun, and games all day!
Innocent children
at play again.
I sure do
miss it,
friend.

A Box Full Of Life

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Roman Kraft

Opening the lid to the past.

Joy, tears, and laughter escape.

Youthful feelings rushing back expectedly.

Playing in the past like it was yesterday.

Staying there is tempting,

in the good ‘ole days.

But were they really?

Boxed memories are nearly all good.

Who saves the crap?

Those moments slowly come back too.

Time to close the lid.

Back to reality.