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 Jan 2016 Phoenix
Celeste Wallis
I remember the day you came into school with fresh slits on your wrists

You had written your world into your own flesh and skin.

Those lines created the pages by which I used to write down our story.

Those cuts displayed every flaw our relationship ever endured.


And I will always remember the day you kissed me

Telling me, begging me not to worry about you.

Telling me the drawings of blood were "nothing"

Telling me you loved me.


To this day, I am left overflowing with questions.

Did it hurt?

Did it make you feel free?

Did it make you feel alive?

Did it make you feel?

But more than anything, I want to know why you chose me.



And my god, I wish this was some poetic analogy for something beautifully tragic.

I wish this was some secret I was too afraid to utter.

But it's not.

And I wish that I had never seen such a horrific sight

Because those scars were not beautiful to me.

They weren't something to be romanticized

They weren't something to be loved.

Because every inch of your punctured skin was a nightmare for me.

I relive that moment every day of my life.

That image forever trapped within the confines of my skull.


And I will always remember the day you left me.

Again and again we fell together.

I held my pain in so deep it created canyons in the breaks on my heart.

But you.

You wore your pain like a badge of honor

You paraded your scars like they were trophies

But they were more than that.

They were a scare tactic that was suffocating me

A plot to force out every ounce of my love for you

A way to blackmail me into staying with you.




And my god I loved you.

And I could have loved you until the day I died.





But I couldn't see past it.

I Couldn't see past the traumatic illustration set before me

past the illustration that stopped my heart beating in my chest.



And I will never forget the day you walked up to me and showed me a display

Of my initials carved into the skin of your forearm.
Trigger Warnings: Suicide, Depression, Self harm.
 Jan 2016 Phoenix
Jude kyrie
troilet
by Roland Leighton
1895 ... December.1915

There's a sob on the sea

*There's a sob on the sea
And the Old Year is dying.
Borne on night wings to me
There's a sob on the sea,
And for what could not be
The great world-heart is sighing.
There's a sob on the sea
And the Old Year is dying.
Roland was born in 1895, the son of Robert Leighton, a writer of boys' adventure stories, and Marie Connor Leighton, a prolific romance novelist.

Roland Aubrey Leighton on a scholarship to Oxford in 1914
Roland Aubrey Leighton on a scholarship to Oxford in 1914
For more information: http://www.oucs.ox.ac.uk/ww1lit/collections/leighton
He studied at Uppington School, where he met Edward Brittain and in 1913, age 19 he began 'courting' Edward's sister, Vera.

Instead of proceeding with his studies, Roland immediately volunteered for service and soon found himself in France. He and Vera became engaged on leave in August of the same year. From France Roland wrote Vera numerous letters discussing British society, the war, the purpose of scholarship and aesthetics, as well as their relationship, which she preserved in her diaries and later writings. Within his correspondence he also sent a limited number of poems.

On 23rd December 1915 Roland died of wounds in the Casualty Clearing Station at Louvencourt, France, having been shot through the stomach by a ****** while inspecting wire in the trenches at Hébuterne. He was 20 years ol
 Jan 2016 Phoenix
Jana Chehab
A poem was always supposed to heal, or to help; at least in a way or another.
But this time is different, not even Rumi can do the work.
My mind is in a blank state-it has shut down.
With a trembling body and shaking wrists
Stealing glances and guilty kisses
Amongst each panic attack I drive through
I sense your sighs and get charged
Then see your phone screen and drop down
My nerves are threads ablaze
She has bigger eyes, her body is steady and so are her wrists
But she does not admire that surgical scar of yours
I seek refuge in it and that's the problem, I guess
She claims ownership, it is her right after all
She is priority
You write her name on every bill board
And I hold the ladder for you
You are writing my death note, you know
But these matters are small
For your phone screen will still glow
With messages that will make you grin
She demands ownership, it is her right after all
As I fight Gods to get those grains of sand you once stepped on
But she is priority, she is royalty.
This is not a poem, it is a tribute
To the time when I breathed you in and you breathed me out
We could have breathed forever
But my cells are attacking one another
And my mind is in a blank state
I have already mentioned that
But you see, I can not hold that ladder anymore
And I am in no state at all
Not one of priority - obviously.
 Jan 2016 Phoenix
Lahela
1/1/16
 Jan 2016 Phoenix
Lahela
I'm trying not to hate myself.

And I'm trying not to tear everyone down with me.
 Jan 2016 Phoenix
LETITFXRING
blue
 Jan 2016 Phoenix
LETITFXRING
I asked her to describe her mood by color
& she said "blue"
Then I asked her why she's sad
Responding
I'm not
I just love the way the ocean makes me feel
I love the water
So therefore "am blue"

Crashing waves
Washing away every color except for the mood I feel
As the sky,
Different hues of the waters
The sound is everything but still
Burning sun laying on my skin
Like the warmth of a hug,
So much elation I feel within
Stains a smile on my face,

From a far the waters aligns itself
And when
Closing my eyes
Visualizing what I seen
Sun beaming on me still
Hearing the waters going different directions
Hidden clouds up above
Moving from the wind

It's beyond what you see
Its also how it makes you feel
So therefore I love the hues
So therefore "am blue"
modified poem
 Jan 2016 Phoenix
AM
Carousel
 Jan 2016 Phoenix
AM
a little girl like myself
would think a hurricane like you
a beautiful carousel to ride into
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