coffee.
we meet at starbucks and i can almost pretend nothing changed until i feel the distance in your voice.
i am calm and quiet. i did not expect this
yet here i am sitting in front of you as you explain how you feel (a rarity).
and you and i are alike in more ways than i realized before.

cantalope.
flying through the young night air
i feel alive and free and happy again.
i meet theresa j hanson. dancer, 19, long thin hair and long thin body.
she says she's heard a lot about me and i am surprised and i like her very much (or my first impression anyways) even though you told me that one time that you had sex with her and other girls would probably instinctively hate her. but i can't. she's just so nice and anyways that sex had nothing to do with me.
she gives us cantalope and me ice water.

cigar smoke.
we go out on the little apartament porch and you smoke the cheap cigar, the kind your grandfather smokes. get a red solo cup for the ashes and i found an old dirty butter knife out here. and we sit. and unexpectedly you say can we start over. and im shocked(you've suprisde me so much tonight) but so grateful and of course we can. you blow smoke rings and when you say whooo are youuu i cannot help but think of alice in wonderland and you are the smoking catepillar who asks life's hard questions and am i alice or the queen or the mad hatter or lewis carroll

coming back.
we reinact a a scene as if we just met and i kiss you as if it's the first time and that is how you will remember me and my lips are cold and your mouth is full of smoke and the kiss is fire and ice it's a wonder we did not steam. something so you'll remember me{i will never forget} and i guess we'll figure out on the way.

amanda muller
amanda muller
May 18, 2013

i am plagued with a heavy sense
of the meaning of things
and it is too much
for me to bear.

Amanda Jerry
Amanda Jerry
Apr 6, 2012

My dreams
don't have to occur in a frigid state,
where the wind blows across the Great Lakes and straight through me.

I
would rather be warm and happy
than cold
and admired
and
miserable.

Vicki
Vicki
Aug 9

It is a boon when I lose.
No worries over which trail fork I choose.
I can go back, sings Led Zeppelin.
There's still time to change the road I'm traveling.
What is time but in our actions,
a gain, in knowledge for taming reactions.
Not one to footprint into rows, when I sense dead ends,
I will go.
It is a boon when I lose.
With people given to death, I reach for new growth,
the hole of loss meant to fill with the words they said
before they were gone.
Go on living.
Reasons to fill the holes
with rhythmic cuts to the heart jagged,
moving this skin over to fit that skin,
covering it and filing it again.
They're gone but not forgotten.
A boon to lose if I choose
to know getting up the next day
is one step closer to their heavens.
99 more ways to die added to the ledger.
Loss of weights waylaid or feelings wasted.
In cutting my losses, I am weightless.

SOME may have blamed you that you took away
The verses that could move them on the day
When, the ears being deafened, the sight of the eyes blind
With lightning, you went from me, and I could find
Nothing to make a song about but kings,
Helmets, and swords, and half-forgotten things
That were like memories of you -- but now
We'll out, for the world lives as long ago;
And while we're in our laughing, weeping fit,
Hurl helmets, crowns, and swords into the pit.
But, dear, cling close to me; since you were gone,
My barren thoughts have chilled me to the bone.

Amanda Goodness
Amanda Goodness
Aug 6, 2013      Aug 6, 2013

Confession time,
Where's my priest?
When I was little I had it all planned out.
"In the name of the father and of the son and of the holy spirit, Amen.
It has been six months since my last confession and these are my sins."
I fought with my family.
I swore.
And I lied.
That is what I said for seven years.
I loved to throw a wrench in the machine.
When I was fourteen I added in a little tid bit to my routine.
"I am gay".
It was the longest pause I had ever heard.
And then it went completely ignored.
How rude of me to try and provoke you, father.

Reconciliation is another word for salvation;
Chelsea Connell
Chelsea Connell
Nov 22, 2013

While walking on the paths of past and
While wading through the rivers of lost dreams,
One will realize that life is temporary.
Forgiveness comes hand-in-hand with misery and
Pain comes hand-in-hand with love.
Life is complicated and so are we.
The trail side weeds caress our ankles like the waves kiss the shore after a storm.
- the storm is our mind & we are the weeds -
Reconciliation is another word for salvation;
For life is temporary and salvation is the answer,
to the questions we will forever ask,
as we walk on unexplored trails and wade through glorious seas.

Reconciliation.
Iris Rebry

We both have felt like charred trees,
Tearing out each other's roots and
Setting each other's roots on fire.
We've fought
Tooth and nail
Clawing out each other's eyes,
So we can't see.
But today you smiled.
And for once I felt bad.
You were alone friend.
And yet I left you.
I meant to be nice.
But what to say?
Reconciliation.
We need to replant our
Scorched roots
And hope that the seedlings
Sprout in the wake of our
Beautiful disasters.

Yacov Mitchenko
Yacov Mitchenko
Jan 26      Jan 26

He and I talked about our kids and wives
As we heard the hockey players now and again
On the screen. We drank beer till about ten.
The fine grain of the bar counter, bartender's smile,
The warm waves of tinkling glasses, laughter,
A fun story of what two young men were after,
The smoke of a pipe as though absorbed in thought,
The soft endearing light spread out like the look
Of a long-returned-to and cherished book,
The window testifying to snow's sweep and pride -
All these bore along the masts of our minds.
Our friendship, too, puffed and flapped our white
Gladness at every sound and sight.
That's how it felt - at first. Yet the words veered off
Into politics and religion; unease,
Discomfort, and the occasional cough,
The frown, grew into being offended.
Mutual anger for a week
Savored its winning streak.
Yet we came to our senses - and all was mended.
In the bar I thought I was right.
I thought he was being perverse, uncouth,
A stubborn and angry offender of truth.
How silly that was... Truth can't be offended.
Truth is truth: it knows no offense or grief,
Is infinitely patient, prone to smile silently, to love.
The one offended is one with a strong belief,
A belief that hasn't so much to do with truth
As it does with lending support to frightened youth.
I had much to learn. I approached my friend,
A gentle listening unfolding wings of light,
And I thought to myself: If I had to choose,
I would choose being kind over being right.

 
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