u/bstunz

the pull 
unrelenting
always here

time not a factor
Still feel
space meaningless
So close

Your voice
calm
Your gaze
unwavering
Your body
strong
Your mind

yes to all of that
always all ways

dimensions 
collapsing
on in
us themselves
there here

something reaching
connecting
already there

through space
and time

i feel you 
At the edge of 
my awareness
you’re here

asleep
awake

the fifth
Maybe
somewhere out there
we were as one

will we be
Here together
we will be

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1uliiw6/comment/ovr9nxo/

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1uo9dey/comment/ovr5z61/

The 5th Dimension
An unseen dimension beyond space and time
Where every possible version of reality exists at once
Not a direction you move through, but a field of possibility
All outcomes, all moments, all selves coexisting simultaneously
A place we can only describe, never directly perceive

They said
their lover is
their best friend.

I scoffed.

Too much
from one.

Partner, sure.
Best friend?

Then you came.
I told you everything.

Even secrets I kept
from everyone.
Not because I should.
Because of want.

The one I’d choose to sit beside
when nothing is happening.
The only one
I want to know me.

A best friend.

Somewhere in that friendship
something bloomed.

I didn’t want more
instead of it.
I wanted more
because of it.

Now I understand.

Not grand
or dramatic.
Simple.

Choosing you
again.

I didn’t think it would be
this hard

Walking away
No communication
Moving on

I excelled at those
Could do it to anyone
from the time I was young

Work
Friends
Family

Didn’t matter who
until you

I don’t even know
how the friendship we had
can affect me this much

Was it your voice
The way you listened

The thoughts you shared
The feelings too
Secrets you told no one
and I did the same with you
like I’ve done
with no one else

How your presence
changed me
inspired me
opened up
what I can be

my poetry

It all compiles
but maybe it’s just

your smiles

https://www.reddit.com/r/justpoetry/comments/1ugkdu8/comment/ou188ez/

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1uck7su/comment/ou7bei9/

She didn’t ask for it
or even know
she carried it.

Small.
Dark.
Insignificant.

Easy to overlook.

She lived her life as always:
Work. Friends. Music.
Always live music.
Where she felt most herself.

From the outside, effortless.
She made it look easy.
No one saw otherwise.

Once in a while
she would toy with it,
unaware of what she carried.

At first, it meant nothing to him.
Then he noticed.
The way she turned it in her hands.
The way it lingered with her.

He didn’t miss it.
He knew where it was.

Control made things easier.
Predictable.
Contained.

He was glad
it was she who carried it.

He rarely used it anyway,
never seemed to need it.

Besides, it had shrunk.

Empty.
Shriveled.
Blackened.

Without the need,
he was fine,
moving through life
untouched.

She began to twirl it more,
still unaware.

Until
his control
collapsed.

He said:
It is yours.

What? No. Not me.

She didn’t want it.
Didn’t ask for it.
Never even saw it.

She returned it.
Right there.

He wished she hadn’t,
but was stunned
to see it had changed.

Now:

Warm.
Large.
Red.

Humming with life.

He carries it with pride,
but it is still not full.

Hers isn’t either.

Two incomplete vessels,
wondering
who holds 
what’s missing.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1uelc88/comment/otl5zf2/

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1uelmqf/comment/otl16fu/

She didn’t ask for it
or even know
she carried it.

Small.
Dark.
Insignificant.

Easy to overlook.

She lived her life as always:
Work. Friends. Music.
Always live music.
Where she felt most herself.

From the outside, effortless.
She made it look easy.
No one saw otherwise.

Once in a while
she would toy with it,
unaware of what she carried.

At first, it meant nothing to him.
Then he noticed.
The way she turned it in her hands.
The way it lingered with her.

He didn’t miss it.
He knew where it was.

Control made things easier.
Predictable.
Contained.

He was glad
it was she who carried it.

He rarely used it anyway,
never seemed to need it.

Besides, it had shrunk.

Empty.
Shriveled.
Blackened.

Without the need,
he was fine,
moving through life
untouched.

She began to twirl it more,
still unaware.

Until
his control
collapsed.

He said:
It is yours.

What? No. Not me.

She didn’t want it.
Didn’t ask for it.
Never even saw it.

She returned it.
Right there.

He wished she hadn’t,
but was stunned
to see it had changed.

Now:

Warm.
Large.
Red.

Humming with life.

He carries it with pride,
but it is still not full.

Hers isn’t either.

Two incomplete vessels,
wondering
who holds 
what’s missing.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1uelc88/us/

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1uelmqf/comment/otl16fu/

Not to be heard.
For release.

Like air
finding a fracture,
they exit.

I don’t shape them.
I stand still.

This one
wasn’t made.

It exited.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1ubm5sf/comment/osxtk1b/

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1ubsdx1/comment/oszni4k/

When I was young
it lived in whispers
if at all.

Words lowered
before they crossed
a room.

Jokes.
Rumors.
Warnings.
Never in the open.

Closeted.

Time passed.
Whispers quieted.
Conversations bloomed.
Progress arrived.

Quietly to me.

Not for those
who made it happen.

I’m not proud
of my silence.
I see the irony.

Pride.

It came
without a parade.
With people
living openly.

Loving.

She wasn’t around then.
When she arrived
what was closed
was now open.

She is never
the loudest voice.
Not demanding
attention.

Just steady.
Living it.
Whole.

Strength that doesn’t need
an audience.

Yet whispers
still alive
from the shadows
they arrive.

Watching old white noise
in suits write new laws.
Trying to push back
what had finally
come out.

The fight
never over.

When I think of her
I feel the force 
of her conviction.

Softly spoken 
steadfast and strong.

I can no longer remain 
silent.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1u8h3n8/comment/os95mli/

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1u8k35l/comment/os97q32/

I still hear it

old
white
noise

Emboldened by
foxes and friends
orange men
and hypocrites
with a pen.

Across the states
proposals grow
to regulate
legislate
repeal and slow
progress.

In twenty twenty-one
over two hundred begun.

In twenty twenty-five
a thousand arrived
determined to deprive
a movement
still alive.

Twenty twenty-six
not halfway through
eight hundred more
we can’t ignore.

Fifty have passed
these last months alone,
no longer whispers
but carved in stone.

The highest court
protects conversion speech
others silence books
and muzzle what we teach.

They claim control of
body and mind,
enforcing laws
with what they signed.

Care stripped away
and knowledge lost,
young lives the ones
that bear the cost.

Malice grows
while good people wait
and silence mistakes 
itself for debate.

Don’t leave it to fate

Love is a terrible thing to hate

I still hear it

old
white
noise

Emboldened by
foxes and friends
orange men
and hypocrites
with a pen.

Across the states
proposals grow
to regulate
legislate
repeal and slow
progress.

In twenty twenty-one
over two hundred begun.

In twenty twenty-five
a thousand arrived
determined to deprive
a movement
still alive.

Twenty twenty-six
not halfway through
eight hundred more
we can’t ignore.

Fifty have passed
these last months alone,
no longer whispers
but carved in stone.

The highest court
protects conversion speech
others silence books
and muzzle what we teach.

They claim control of
body and mind,
enforcing laws
with what they signed.

Care stripped away
and knowledge lost,
young lives the ones
that bear the cost.

Malice grows
while good people wait
and silence mistakes 
itself for debate.

Don’t leave it to fate

Love is a terrible thing to hate

I still hear it

old
white
noise

Emboldened by
foxes and friends
orange men
and hypocrites
with a pen.

Across the states
proposals grow
to regulate
legislate
repeal and slow
progress.

In twenty twenty-one
over two hundred begun.

In twenty twenty-five
a thousand arrived
determined to deprive
a movement
still alive.

Twenty twenty-six
not halfway through
eight hundred more
we can’t ignore.

Fifty have passed
these last months alone,
no longer whispers
but carved in stone.

The highest court
protects conversion speech
others silence books
and muzzle what we teach.

They claim control of
body and mind,
enforcing laws
with what they signed.

Care stripped away
and knowledge lost,
young lives the ones
that bear the cost.

Malice grows
while good people wait
and silence mistakes 
itself for debate.

Don’t leave it to fate

Love is a terrible thing to hate

I still hear it

old
white
noise

Emboldened by
foxes and friends
orange men
and hypocrites
with a pen.

Across the states
proposals grow
to regulate
legislate
repeal and slow
progress.

In twenty twenty-one
over two hundred begun.

In twenty twenty-five
a thousand arrived
determined to deprive
a movement
still alive.

Twenty twenty-six
not halfway through
eight hundred more
we can’t ignore.

Fifty have passed
these last months alone,
no longer whispers
but carved in stone.

The highest court
protects conversion speech
others silence books
and muzzle what we teach.

They claim control of
body and mind,
enforcing laws
with what they signed.

Care stripped away
and knowledge lost,
young lives the ones
that bear the cost.

Malice grows
while good people wait
and silence mistakes 
itself for debate.

Don’t leave it to fate

Love is a terrible thing to hate

I still hear it

old
white
noise

Emboldened by
foxes and friends
orange men
and hypocrites
with a pen.

Across the states
proposals grow
to regulate
legislate
repeal and slow
progress.

In twenty twenty-one
over two hundred begun.

In twenty twenty-five
a thousand arrived
determined to deprive
a movement
still alive.

Twenty twenty-six
not halfway through
eight hundred more
we can’t ignore.

Fifty have passed
these last months alone,
no longer whispers
but carved in stone.

The highest court
protects conversion speech
others silence books
and muzzle what we teach.

They claim control of
body and mind,
enforcing laws
with what they signed.

Care stripped away
and knowledge lost,
young lives the ones
that bear the cost.

Malice grows
while good people wait
and silence mistakes 
itself for debate.

Don’t leave it to fate

Love is a terrible thing to hate

I still hear it

old
white
noise

Emboldened by
foxes and friends
orange men
and hypocrites
with a pen.

Across the states
proposals grow
to regulate
legislate
repeal and slow
progress.

In twenty twenty-one
over two hundred begun.

In twenty twenty-five
a thousand arrived
determined to deprive
a movement
still alive.

Twenty twenty-six
not halfway through
eight hundred more
we can’t ignore.

Fifty have passed
these last months alone,
no longer whispers
but carved in stone.

The highest court
protects conversion speech
others silence books
and muzzle what we teach.

They claim control of
body and mind,
enforcing laws
with what they signed.

Care stripped away
and knowledge lost,
young lives the ones
that bear the cost.

Malice grows
while good people wait
and silence mistakes 
itself for debate.

Don’t leave it to fate

Love is a terrible thing to hate