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 Jan 2018 Amoni Fuller
Rhiannon
I am a mediocre person,
I do not live to please.
I do what I want, when I like,
Calmly passing like an autumn breeze.

A majority of my work is lackluster.
My things are left to grow mould,
As I grew up in a female cluster,
Of, "Girls are to do what they're told".

A robotic schedule has taught me,
That freedom will fall apart in my hands.
As real freedom is actually,
To embrace what I do not understand.

When the weather is cold and dreary,
I think of when the sun used to play,
But then I remember warm and clearly,
That the sun rises everyday.

I am a mediocre person,
I do not live to please.
This society does not define me,
So do not be shocked when I leave.
I betray today for the promise of tomorrow.

Not to understand the now! whether love, anger or sorrow.

I know better, but better does not seem to know me.
I cannot hear, move or truly see.

Its him, its them, I blame and I surely condemn.
I look within and ask why, what, when?

Push and Pull, its screams Resistance!
But STOP!...
I AM the architecture of my own existence.

Is it not mine to take? is life not what I make?

Disable the Automatic, i'll take a seat and watch the traffic.

I choose to be free from all that pretends to be!

I DO know better, and better will just have to get to know me!

By Jimmy
It's easy to fall in love
When you've been starved of friendship for so long
You can't grasp the concept correctly anymore

You have to remember, my friend,
That sometimes
People are simply happy to see you,
And it seems as if
You've never met real people before

I make you laugh, you say,
I'm exaggerative and expressive,
And you call me pathetic
When I can't open a door

I tell you, you're strange,
But I say, "never change,"
And this will confuse you,
Because you say others use you,
And they'll accuse you
Of refusing to be normal

You'll say you've never told anyone before
Before I came knocking on your door
Coaxing you to be honest
Telling you that you're flawless,

This is because, dear friend,
You've never met real people before
Where is that little girl I used to know?
The one that helped me make faces in the half melting snow?
The child that would spend hours on the battered couch with me,
Wasting precious time trying to find our show on TV.
What ever happened to my first
best friend?
Oh the seconds, minutes, hours we would spend-
Laughing
Chasing
Walking
Talking
Running
then
Tripping
and
Falling,
all before more devilish
Door-bell Ringing
followed by rapid
Sprinting back
to your house
on the end of
the cul-de-sac
to find your angry mother,
whom later we'd
secretly laugh at...
So many memories,
Jumping fences,
Kicking soccer *****,
Washing sand from my eyes,
Ignoring the teacher to
make faces and laugh,
which we then disguised
as coughing so the fun
could carry on,
throughout kindergarten,
first, second, third,
and so on.
So many days spent crying over how you left me...
Now, my dear Brooke, I just think of you fondly.
Hopefully the next time I pass you
in the hallway,
you'll lift your head and look at me with those eyes I once adored,
which are now full of such
sadness and worry.
I yearn for those glory days, those beautiful times
I will never get back...
but maybe one day, I'll see a glimpse
of that silly little girl I once loved
who lived at the end
of the cul-de-sac.
"I can see my door, my bed, my window, my chair, and my table.

"I can feel my spine against the wall, my feet against the floor, my jaw tightly shut, and my fingernails buried in my arms.

"I can hear the wind coming in from the open window, my heartbeat rapidly thumping, and that familiar voice in my head, shouting once again.

"I can smell the dampness of the ground outside as the breeze carries it to my room, and the sickly sweet odor from the soap used on my hands.

"I can ******* blood spilling from the bite in my lip; my last harsh reminder that
        I
        am      
        still
        alive.
When you call a suicide prevention hotline, they will often ask you to describe to them 5 things you can see, 4 things you can feel, 3 things you can hear, 2 things you can smell, and 1 thing you can taste to help ease anxiety. I hope this poem helps someone struggling to look forward, because believe me, it does get better.
I’m learning the new language of love
It’s cloudy and I’ve only
broken sentences
already-fluent in the tongue of
drunk hook-ups and
meaningless touches and
compromised endeavors and
disguised intentions

I have never felt what I was promised
I want to bathe myself in it
showers
pools
seas
of infatuation
if it exists

desperate for affection
addicted to the idea
that a soul could long for me

craving something
anything

unreliable arousal
am I unfairly deprived?
 Jan 2018 Amoni Fuller
Chloe Hunt
Talking about it would
Telling you would
                        Thinking about it would
                                            Crying in front of you would
               I can't
                            It would
                           It could
                                         D
                                              e
               ­                                     s
                          ­                               t
                                                              r­
                                                                ­    o
                                                           ­               y
                                                ­                                            me
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