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Problematic Poetry

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Category: Poetry

Off My Mind

August 24, 2022March 27, 2023 Aren GoodwinLeave a comment

And so, she saw her standing unaware, bringing winter under sunburnt hair. He had no fear for her electric chair. Because he once believed a lie, that god is good, and life is fair. Was explicit and offensive, in the shedding of my savagery? I'd hate to share in the unpleasant parts, that make up… Continue reading Off My Mind →

Spotless

August 24, 2022March 23, 2023 Aren GoodwinLeave a comment

Down in the dirt I dressed my best, for it gave me perspective. Without worth left to contest, my heart grew cold and selective. Like the dark knew I’d depart you, and must have marked a chart of clues. Too construed or unglued, for this part shark detective. So hark the late clean slate, seems… Continue reading Spotless →

Midair

August 24, 2022March 27, 2023 Aren GoodwinLeave a comment

Why save the sincerity, for days of posthumous clarity? Seems we’re all midair,unaware, or ensnared. Unprepared, we barely dare to breathe.

Forgive The Forest

August 23, 2022March 23, 2023 Aren GoodwinLeave a comment

In a sea full of my twisted trees, I'd marked the mad to nix the mystery, of the sickness that held bliss from me. But, when I returned to burn, I'd missed the bleed. Simply scabbing sap, where steel attacked. Then, their laughter sent me reeling back. "Nice try! But, you see, we're here to… Continue reading Forgive The Forest →

Disarmored

August 22, 2022December 6, 2025 Aren GoodwinLeave a comment

Sorry for syllabic self loathing. Words were my armor, and made for comfortable clothing. While I dug ever deeper, my own grave exposing. The familiarity all too foreboding. So beware the bereaved, that lonely leads in. For, I sparkle more than the unknown contents of your dust bin. Just enough to relate to, and therefore… Continue reading Disarmored →

My Vera

August 22, 2022March 23, 2023 Aren GoodwinLeave a comment

At least my Vera wasn't vicious. She could have ripped, but kissed instead, the freshly woven stitches. Call her another stone in my fallen wall, call me wrong, and then dissolve it all.

The Loss Taste

August 22, 2022March 23, 2023 Aren GoodwinLeave a comment

When I found freedom in forgiveness, to my soul's rebirth, I soon stood as a witness. For, to grow we must explore, those dark parts we hide, and most abhor.Or embrace, In the rare case, that you've grown to ignore lines on your bare face, and you've lived for time tossed aside, in an odd… Continue reading The Loss Taste →

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