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  Aug 2014 Hollow
Kylin Luna
a story told I heard in passing
a face, a photo, some one laughing
shy eyes staring somewhere crowded
living softly, needing loudly

a funeral right outside my room
roses taking months to bloom
framing the past for all, revealing
black & white, every feeling.
Hollow Aug 2014
She looked at me and said
The pieces of love
Are picked up from a broken heart

And she got into her daddy's car the next day
And off into recovery did she go

Off into recovery she went
And she returned in a coffin
And I never recovered

And the pieces of whatever it was I picked up
From my newly broken heart
Were certainly not shards of love
But I know they made me bleed

Emily
  Aug 2014 Hollow
Juneau
We are all connected consciously.
Experiencing one another subjectively.
We are all one universally.
Look closer and soon you'll see,
that all matter is condensed energy.
Can you feel it pulse from me?
Beating in and out rhythmically.
Renewing itself repeatedly.
All things have a frequency.
Each wave, different like you and me.
Harmonizing in a similar key.
Drifting out into eternity.
There is so much that you can’t see.
The building blocks of reality.
Destroying and creating endlessly.
Infinite possibility.*
Existence  *cycles continuously.
Matter shifts from you to me.
Choosing where to go unbiasedly.
Tempestuous, chaotic entropy.
All things are connected musically.
A never-ending melody.
It has been and will always be.
Vibrations existing in harmony.
March 16, 2013
Seventeenth
Inspired by Bill Hicks
  Aug 2014 Hollow
Timothy Brown
People always show their true intentions
if you pay attention.
Hollow Aug 2014
All the signs
The green ones that tell me the current interstate
And the ones that tell me
Which city I'm in
All the signs that point me in the right direction
And I think:
"Huh"
"This whole time, I followed my heart...
...and not the signs that meant the most"

And for that reason I felt lost

Home is not where the heart is friends
Home is where you built your life
Whether good or bad
And I have seen it this way
To this day
And forever will I

I know where I belong
  Jul 2014 Hollow
Margot Dylan
Dearest Reader,


My name is Margot Dylan, and I'm a pariah.

On the 16th of April, I told my mother that I was gay. She threw the clay mug that I made for her before she found out I was gay, against the floral, peeling wallpaper mess of a wall, in our kitchen. The decaffeinated peppermint green tea left a wonderful aroma that almost cleansed the room of the stench of 'lesbian'.

I met Dylan Dunham a few days after that, and, a few days later, she was the first girl that I ever loved.

Dylan wore a red flannel jacket, and was a butch and sometimes a *****-but I loved her even at her tomboy cruelest.

Dylan smoked a cigarette that smelled like lonerism, and she looked at me like she didn't care. My heart skipped a beat, as cliche as it sounds, whenever she would remove the cigarette from her mouth, exhale, and look at me as smoke traveled up her face. I looked at her and knew that she was everything that I wasn't, and everything that I wanted.

Dylan was Dianne, before and after school. Dylan was Dianne, who wore floral dresses and lipstick and who ditched her butch clothing in her locker before leaving. Dylan was Dianne, who was straight and who thought Tyler Wesson, from church, was cute. Dylan was Dianne, who had a short hair cut because of track and field, because she explained that she ran a faster time with less hair. Dylan was Dianne, who didn't associate with me before or after school because her parents knew that I was gay.

During school hours, the only thing Dylan did keep from Dianne was the lipstick. I was envious of the cigarette because of it's burgundy stains. We would stand in a stall, as she looked across from me, after each drag. She frequently offered her cigarettes, but I refused because I only let love **** me. If she ever brought alcohol, sometimes she'd kiss me. I told her that I loved her and she said, "I know."

The only thing that Dylan kept from me was my heart, before she started to smoke cigarettes in the bathroom with Annie Way.


I wish you the best moments so they can overcome the worst,

Margot Dylan
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