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E McNamara
Funny how
You meant so much to me
I would lose my breath
When I only saw you
And now
I swallow air easily
You mean nothing to me
Funny how
I’m still writing poetry for you.
Some part of me
Must still love you.
Why do I still write poetry for you?
The warmth spreads across my body like a feverish dream
Leaning into my chest, laying there
Her head upon my shoulder
Silently day dreaming
The slow, gentle rise and fall of her breath
Earphones in as we sit and await
The bus traveling to our final destination
attempting not to be late
My tired eyes glance to the girl by side
Her worn black shoes
Her pale pink socks, dyed from the past wash
Lightly Tanned legs leading up to the navy blue dress
Her matching year 12 jacket resting gentle on her chest
Her short golden and brown locks fall gracefully in front of her glowing blue eyes
A tired look adoring her face as she thinks of the day to come
Clutching onto my arm
That lay over here own shoulder
I wonder what will happen to us when we get so much older
Will the peaceful days of silence be as they are now?
Or will there be heavy conflict that will bring us so much closer?
Will there come a time where we both become loners?
A thought of a moment, a life we have lived up till now
Just close your eyes tight, We can think about it when the days over.
Just random thoughts about my best friend as we were on the bus one morning
The western winds speak
They call after me
Inviting me to venture alone
Into the frontier; I tell them
The west is conquered; no
Northwest passage led us
To the Eternal Paradise which
All men truly sought when they
Ransacked villages, when they
Burnt heretics
Every single one was searching
For the forbidden garden
Guarded by the divine blade
Little did they know the answer
To the Divine riddle eluding man
Lied within the heart and soul
Of every man; the antenna connecting
Him to the Amorphous divine
Machinery grinding in the night;
The summoner of chaos and order
The puppet master of tyrants
The warm wind off the coast
It’s all around us
It’s in the rustle of leaves
It’s the laugh of a newborn
It’s you, it’s me, it’s every
Single one of us.
Look up into the night sky
Into the stars which, long ago,
Burned incandescent over
A mother and child
In the heart of Bethlehem.
Ann Beaver
If I could love
the limping
part of me
That I drag through the mud
and thorns

If I could let
the transparent
silhouette speak
Instead of kicking it
into the basement

If I could put
my deepest human essence
onto paper
for everyone to see

Then, I could be free.
When I look at you
and your hundred photographs
with some smiles saying cheese
while you are busy making some material memories.

You tend a click a shooting star
or perhaps a new born flower.
You capture the reindeer
and get a video of a someone drinking beer.
Those likes that please
and the validations that they give.
Is it really what matters ?

Would you still click the riviera
instead of lying on the grass ?
or would you take a moment to breath
or post just another smiley ?
Its a never ending cycle.

Communication through light
and distantly distant on the inside
You still don't bother
and still request more friendships.

Do you still long for those hugs and
that little chemistry.
Do you still wish to hold hands
or the ups in your heartbeats.

I still wait for a whisper,
telling me that you love me.
I wish to wake up besides you
and not for a beep.
But there’s you
and your Fake Dopamine.
What is happiness ? What are we running for ? What are we running away from ?
I am so perfect
That's what you said
But one day I wake
You suddenly left

I want us to last long
Tell me what I did wrong
But you wanna be alone
So who am I to say No

Yes I did everything
To keep us working
Thought you did same thing
That's what I'm thinking

Now that you are gone
I guess now I am done
Done with one sided love
The love I always have
i’m tired of not loving you.
i’m tired of the dry
fluorescent lights
illuminating not everything
but almost everything
just enough to make me think
i see it all.
i’m tired of waiting
for the stones i sent skipping
across the water
to come back
i’m tired of sinking with them.
i’m tired of noticing
that snow during spring
is warmer than i am
i’m tired of complaining
and then being scared of
what you think
of my complaining.
i’m tired of stitching puzzle pieces
into patterns that don’t make sense
just so i can ask you about them
i’m tired of trying to hang paintings
on bare white walls and thinking
i’m the problem
when it doesn’t stick.
i’m tired of being overestimated
even when i know
what i’m doing
i’m tired of falling in love
just because you’re kind to me
i’m tired of not loving you
but i’m tired of not loving me more.
i think maybe you value me just as much as i value you. it blows my mind actually. i love you.
Jasleen kalra
And if you are to love,
Love as the moon loves.
It doesn't steal the night,
It only unveils the beauty of the dark.

And if you are to love,
Love as the rain loves.
It doesn't wet the bodies,
It only washes the sad dirt of the souls.

And it you are to love,
Love as the wind loves.
It doesn't drift away,
It only cleanse you to the core by invading through each pore.

And if you are to love,
Love as the sun loves.
It doesn't radiates heat,
It only pours its warmth on you to enlighten your way.

And if you are to love,
Love as the star loves.
It doesn't delightfully twinkles,
It only reminds you that not even death can separate two hearts.

And so forth,
if you are to love
Love as the whole universe
& not just a part of it.
If I were not in an
beauty pageant, where the girls who were
fainting on stage were
#1 ,
and the girls like me
were sliced and diced ,

where the girls who were
clinging onto their bones for life , won . . .

It would feel . . .
[I]l i g h e r .
All of the weights on my back ,
lifted off.
It would feel free.
For every bite over my limit
would not count as
another sit up added to 300.

I would see . . .
[I]less measuring tapes.
I would see people , and just that.
I would not look at everything with
on top of them ,
when I see food ,
no calories ,
when I see people ,
no pounds.
I would not look at everything and see numbers, and think about how it would

Lastly ,
It would sound ,
oh how it would sound . . .
[I] q u i e t.
I would not be screamed at ,
by my best friend , Ana ,
I would not be shamed and
guilt tripped for
taking a step , or sitting the wrong way.

I could pick up the goddamn
without being criticized about how
my fingers are.

It would be . . .
scary ,
because even though she has put me through
hell ,
she is my best friend in the times
most needed .
She is the one who comforts me the best.
So even though I would see so much clearer ,
it would be a loss grieved.  

And that ,
is the scariest thing about this disorder ,
is how
the thing that tears you apart everyday of your
life ,
is the thing you just can not let go.
hey , its a long one but it is important to me.
Hunter Cyrus
I don’t know why.
I don’t know why.
I don’t know why you must hurt me.
I don’t know why you run my heart through with a stake.
Oh well.
It hurts to be treated so poorly by one of my best friends.
It’s saddening to watch the traits that make you beautiful change.
Here’s to the fracturing of us, further.
Here’s to the cracking of my soul.
I just...
I wish you had told me what I did wrong this time.
It’s the best word to describe watching you slide into my bad side.
I used to forgive you for nearly all, because I felt you deserved it.
But now we’re here.
And you’ve fallen out of favour by breaking me.
Peter Balkus
If love doesn't exist,
then what I'm doing here,
sitting in the park,
waiting for you to come
and to let your lips be kissed?

If love doesn't exist,
what's making me write those words?
Who's sitting on my shoulder
and whispering in my ear
the sweetest things?

If love doesn't exist,
why my heart is beating fast,
minutes away from seeing your face
and a hair stroke away from being
all over the place?

If love doesn't exist, why I always cry,
listening to the song reminding me
the very first time I met you -
it was the last time I ever felt alone.

(Love is not blind,
blind are those, who never loved.)
in this raw
and simple
i set forth
the notion
our children
need us
and upcoming
we will see
a parade
of some of our
smartest, most
and sweetest
youth marching
united, shoots of
grass roots
who know shots
from assault
i feel
called upon
to pause
at a moment
in time such as this,
challenge myself
to consider
simply the logistics
involved in safely
delivering home
to the nation's
Capitol our most
statistic: our babies
under 18
setting forth
across our aging
bridges and highways
and on airplanes
and charter
buses, away from
their studies, dates
and fun times.
i am ashamed
it has gotten
to this stage

in this raw
and simple
space, i wonder
why i write where
the majority
of us
wander off
from poems about
the most egregious
in our world.
i know politics
is a hot-button
issue and i fall prey
to self-absorption,
but not today.
not this time

this poem
is for the kids.
they're sick
of being shot at.
they're sick
of this shit.
within your soul,
can you feel
how frighteningly
creepy this


if all electricity was to pause
all machinery turned off

if nothing is distracting,
would we finally en masse

globally take responsibility-
feel them, hear them,

hold them, still them-
the world's crying children?
Saturday, March 24.
March For Our Lives,
a name picked
by our babies,
John F McCullagh
Three decades since he last drew breath-
it came as something of a shock
To find a tape that he had made
Its existence long forgot.

To hear his Irish Brogue again
after  a long  respite.
To hear  the music of his voice
It is my heart's delight.

A simple oral history
we taped in 73'
we did a sort of a "Q and A"
I think he humored me.

Some truths he told
Some truths withheld.
I know with certainty.
Not all will be revealed.

He had the courage to venture out
from the old world to the new.
I love him more than words can say,
but no more than he is due.
I discovered a lost tape of my father's voice labeled oral history
Blue Ribbons
She had gold in her voice,
she held close to the heart
A thousand and one carrots,
They sculpted it for art.

She wanted to sing,
for there was no better way,
To share all her frequencies
in exchange for plain air.

The people loved her,
They saw beauty in her tune.
Yet when her song ended,
They reached for its cocoon.

Her fragile spirit rested inside
beneath the many dreams,
that sheltered it from the outside.

She had thought that they loved her,
Yet they ripped out her core,
Driving away her dreams,
Making her spirit no more.

Her dreams were a treasure,
They made up her soul.
But the others around her,
They just wanted more.

You see, people are greedy,
They only see gains.
And when the talent appears,
They rip it away.

To harvest it.
For their own eager needs.
To make money off of it,
Until it’s bled empty.
I will wake you up,
From your deepest slumbers;
Fill in the gaps and voids,
The blanks and the emptiness.
The fountain and the cracks
Where the rejuvinating juice pours,
The unusual shape of your lips
When the mail man lures.
I will wake you up,
From the spurts of excitement,
Draw a steady line
Of vague resentment,
Turning the tides
Of the tables bringing the whole,
Bring shivers of joy and laughter
Redefining the needed tools.
I will wake you up
From your middle mind dementia
Turn your knobs on
When the spirits takes over
Lover, you foolish creature.
Sleeping from the reality
When your deal breaker's a misser.
She Writes
I’ve found comfort in knowing
No matter where you are
The many miles between
We lie under the same stars

Sometimes I try to guess
which one you’d see
If you were looking up at them
Same as me

I look to the skies
When I’m lost and blue
Trying to find myself
But all I see is you

what do you see when you look to the stars
Do you see me, or just mercury and mars
We're almost touching.
we were walking side by side,
you're talking about cabs in your hometown.
I can feel the gravity of your hand, calling my fingers
whispering "it's alright."

We're touching but not quite.
you held my shoulder to protect me from the passing cars.
and for the first time in a long while, I felt so fragile.
In this world where I find it hard even to breathe,
you believed me.

I almost said it.
All I need is one ounce of strength to tell you every single thing that I have ever felt about you.

I want to find home in your collarbones.
Would you be kind enough to let a stranger in?
I want to seep in your being because I'm cold.
The world is harsh and my cracks are aching.

Please don't ever become a stranger,
whose laugh I can recognize anywhere.
i want to get high in foreign cities
travel to places i have yet to lay my eyes on
pack a bag and take off, my only motive to feel free
i want to kiss lovers on pavement my toes have never touched
beneath trees rooted with legends in their leaves
ensuring everlasting love
and i want to feel light, rather than weighed down
anchored to one small town
i want to drop everything and get away
to places where time is altered
and the stars are always present
whether it be in the night sky or people's eyes
i want to fall in love with strangers, cities, and scenes
i crave so deeply to feel free
to start anew

but at the same time
i want you to come too

Dakota L
I sit up in bed. The memories of silent nights together in my car possess me and throw me into painful longing. I’m taken back to the long school months where we spent the miserable cold nights together. only the stars watched us, only the radio listened in. We were fearless high schoolers with nothing to lose, but now in unbearable agony my throat burns before I sob, looking at the same stars we kissed under,  thinking about it like it wasn’t just last month...
No one can know your pain
Not nearly as well as yourself
But the rope won't take it away
It just gives it to someone else
If I die today,
Would tears flow,
like a rushing river?
Or the clouds weep,
screaming in thunder?
Would the earth break,
shaking in anger?
Will the world care?
And for a moment,
forget laughter?

If I'm down
to my final heartbeat.
Will anyone be there,
sitting beside me?
When I draw,
the very last breath.
Will you hold my hand,
and feel upset?

If I go,
without saying goodbye.
I want you to know,
that I really tried.
To live and love,
to endure and smile.
To find the truth,
in this realm of lies.

If I'm fated
of leaving soon
to talk with God,
in his glowing room.
I'll be rejoicing,
when I face my doom.
Even I end like a flower,
that withered,
before it blooms.

If inside the casket I lay,
Would there any heaven for me to stay?
Or will my sins, demand me to pay?
Don't even know, how much this life has weighed.

If it's my time, to step on the scale.
Done of my part, in this play.
A lot of regrets,
but nothing more to say.
Wish me luck.
If I die today.
Tiana Marie
She was like music,
and I longed to dance.

Her heart was the beat,
and I begged for the chance.

Her words were the vocals,
and I was put in a trance.

Her smile was the melody,
and I fell in love at first glance.
Ciel Noir
We are such            clever creatures to divide
Most everything             into its different sides
With chaos versus             order, dark and light
The stark duality of         wrong and right
We even split the very        world in two
With human versus human,       we and you
But still no matter how much      we divide
Each thing has infinitely many      sides
This is not a love poem
this is an I love you do you love me like
I love you poem
do you know me like
you think you do poem
this is a would you be disappointed
if you did poem
an I have been feeling the chilling of the air
and I cant tell if it is just the fault of the season
or if you, too, are cooling
whatever heat you had for me
browning and falling and
crumbling between my fingers
like the leaves of these oak trees
in november poem
a what would I need to do to keep us warm poem
and this is also
an I may be completely mistaken poem
an it was seventy degrees today poem
this is a show me I am completely mistaken poem
JJsbdksndkkdmxmjshJustletmediemmmkbhbxjdnxnbdjxbdnxnnxnxnImsotire­dofthisnsjs nkksbdndnbdthese tears wontstopjdjdnn znjsnndudndkdknfkdmssnfnjdndnndbdbdbdnWhythepainstilllivesin myheartjjxnxjxjdn mykdjdvjsndjcjndndncnxkxnkxndkdkjdnskxhjshdjddndeImsofuckingtired­msnndksnxonshxidnkxndjsjdbjdkslmsndjjdbdisbdjjdksndjdhbsndnndjdjd­ndnd

Youllneverunderstand me
It took me seven years
to realise
the words in my mind
were too deep for
my mouth to dig up
I thought it was easier
to open my skin
and let the truth
pour down my arms

It took me seven years
to realise
nobody should be allowed
to touch parts
of your home
or hold pieces  
of your heart
that you don't yet understand

It took me seven years
to realise
I will wear these scars
I'll carry them
through every smile
every kiss
every concerned gaze
I'll carry them
to my grave

It took me seven years
to realise
the pain carved
into the walls
of my castle
etchings of
attempting to disappear
are not a story of weakness
but a tale of
how I survived
the moment a poet
falls in love with you

is the moment
you live

f o r e v e r
Your naked body
Pressed on mine
We kissed

I thought that
I should feel

Thrill, euphoria
Lust, love
Or bliss

But no
I felt
And I'm very sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me.  You are everything I have ever wanted, but for some reason touching you leaves me blank.  I feel nothing.  And I am sorry.
John Bartholomew
That poor man, look at him sat there
On his own, shopping for one, no friends or love, bound for life in that hideous wheelchair
Do I talk for him or would that be a sin
It's the modern world, he does as he wants, his decision to be here, I'll leave it down to him
He looks up, can he reach that product, think I'd better go over and help
Can I assist you sir, shall I pass it to you or can you easily get it for yourself

Was this wrong as he sits now in silence, overstepping a mark of just plain goodwill
He looks up at me, a smirk of delight, and relief drains from me like the bitterest pill
Thank you young lady, as I hate to sometimes ask
As to you of course, it seems the simplest of tasks
Because this is not as it's always been, the paraplegic position of that poor individual
Fancy a chat, a coffee in the cafe, and I will tell you the story of how I became so crippled

A state of empowerment now downtrodden, as the view becomes less clear
It’s hard to tell in the blink of an eye, of a life we all so fear
Explanations, requirements, everyday necessities and drugs on a weekly prescription
I could bore you for hours of this tedious droll, but those things become an addiction
So as you can see, I’m not that wee poor man just looking lost in the supermarket
I have a life, I have a heart, I just can’t find a way to prove it

For I am a regular man, now operating in turmoil
As I have already put into the title
This para, really is normal

Theoretical physics is one of the few fields in which being disabled is no handicap - it is all in the mind - Stephen Hawking

How a society treats its disabled is the true measure of a civilization - Chen Guangcheng
Hannah rose
He doesn’t like to cuddle. He likes to grip my hips and touch my lips, But only when it suits him. He sticks his head out my window because its too hot in my room and he doesn't like the sound of my fan easy.Breath.caffeine.breeze. We laugh quietly and kiss quietly and moan quietly. He mouths vulgar things that make me giggle in front of our friends. I run my hand along the seam off his far too expensive shorts We take every opportunity to be with each other to talk , to feel, so secretly. So public. Exhibitionist pleasure. We talk night after night rapidly and vigorously and trip over each others sentences like a sidewalk crack. He says “her” like it means “amen” i say “us” pretending i could be them.We get drunk off of music  and skin and things we love. His smile erupts across his face like it could shatter his cheekbones. His eyes glimmer like a lake catching the glare of the moonlight.He loves to be so much taller  than me. He thinks it makes him wiser. We spend a lot of time in my room with the doors shut. (We spend a lot of time outside of my room with our mouths shut.) I always wake up first. I lay there looking at him Vulnerable and quiet with the occasional sleep talk. Soft face. Soft sounds.We bond over love for our friends We fight over who gets the corner in my bed.
We tease and We kiss, ooh we kissed.
He loves classical music. We listen in silence.I sit on his stomach and laugh maniacally and pout my lips when he won’t be fair.
He is my occasional constant.
i think i'm falling in love with him.
I think he's fallen for her.
I met a lady in red with glasses on
She sits near the heavy stone
as i enter the room
she smiles and waved her hand
I kept chasing
you, as if
you were
a distant dream.
But dreams
are not always
Sometimes, we have
nightmares too.
When did those dreams turned into nightmares? When did I stop believing in the magic of dreams?
sitting underneath the stairs, i realized suddenly:
i could die here.

i could die here,
and would anyone know?
i could die here, under the dirty staircase,
and nothing would change.

a friend of mine came for me eventually;

someone i don't know too well,
but well enough.

and she squeezed my hand and told me,
"you're not alone."

as my breathing grew ragged and my chest constricted and my eyes ached, i belatedly realized that was the most terrifying prospect of all.
only thing worse than feeling alone is knowing that so many others feel alone... hope everyone out there is feeling loved.
Nat Lipstadt
For Helen
who wrote it first,
who wrote it better,
and in doing so,
makes me see more clearly
the why

no poem should ever be untitled-
every face needs a name-
every poem needs just
one read for completion

but more than that, it is
a orphan still,
deserving of the due,
the entitlement to be titled,
a parenting of sorts

what was the thought that born it-
what was the emotion that conceived it-
what was the sight that demanded sharing?

this is the age of summary and synthesis,
140 and not one more,
so give direction, enable me to make
snap judgements, with so much on my plate,
we must predigest your concepts,
my multi-tasking slowed to levels unacceptable,
so I can adjudge you,
you worker poet,
before or never reading
after all,
why read anything untitled?

more than this however,

for the few who chew
each morseled vowel,
ken each constant consonant,
celebrate stanzas that halt the breathing
and then,
god bless the whole child,
flaws and all,
they more than anyone deserve
your consideration in return

for the title is the essence spark
of you-
and all the more so,
of what you have chosen to share,
  your essentials honored
Yasmin Nooren
You ask me what's on mind,
It's YOU.
you're on my mind. Your beautiful eyes,
your soft skin... Your lips that I crave to kiss
The fact that I am curios to know how you taste,
your smell that I find so addictive.
I want to hold your hand, I want to kiss your neck
you are what's on my mind
But here I stand to tell you.
I don't know...
I love her in every way possible... But I can't and shouldn't. - 지
I stopped writing.
Not because I fell out of love with it...
My emotions just seemed to disappear.

I started a new medication.
The doctor said it would help my panic disorder, and it did.
I took that pill, like my mother talks to God (every morning).

When I went back to the doctor she said we had to up the dosage because apparently having 2 panic attacks a week still isn't okay.
I told her that when I woke up this morning I got out of bed without crying, but she didn't consider that as much of a victory as I did.

When I was put on a higher dosage, my emotions shut down.
After a few weeks I stopped crying, my OCD got better, my panic attacks were gone, and I could even go into the student union of my college campus without my heart trying to win a race against my thoughts.

I could breathe.

But, I also stopped having fun.
I felt like a stranger in my own body.
My emotions found the exit on the plane and jumped, never to be found again.

Since when did being able to breathe require me to feel like this?
the moonlight will protect me tonight
i know there is hell and heaven,
for you showed me both.
i'll always miss you.
Sydney Pinhack
I was scared to love you
Because I know this ends
One of two ways

Outcome 1:
We try,
And we crash and burn
And everyone around us is stuck
Cleaning up the ashes
As it becomes hard
To simply look you in the eye

Outcome 2:
Which is far less likely
We are a perfect match
And live in a world of bliss
For two years...

And then you leave
Not because you want to
But because that's where you are in life
And I would be left behind

Both hearts would break
But you would be going on to bigger things
And I'd be trapped for another two years

So I created outcome 3
Where nothing changes
Because in outcomes 1 and 2
I lose you

But what I neglected to realize
Is that in outcome 3
You will still leave
And I will still miss you

In this outcome
I just didn't have the guts
To say yes to something
That could have been beautiful

And now when you leave
I won't be left with a broken heart
But I will be left
With the "what if"
The first person we love,
is often the person that
shows us pain.
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