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 Sep 13 Brianna
Grace E
 Sep 13 Brianna
Grace E
He rippled "I don't understand you!"
"Of course you don't." she replied.
"Storms aren't made to be understood."
 Mar 28 Brianna
"I'm scared"
She mumbled into his shoulder
As he held her tightly to his chest
"Of what"
He whispererd as he tilted her face
To meet his
"Of the way you look at me"
"And how's that"
"Like you love me
With an intensity I've never seen before"
 Mar 28 Brianna
Renn Powell
i couldn't figure out what was worse
smoking or loving you
either one would turn my lungs black
and stop my heart eventually
 Mar 28 Brianna

if God created the earth in seven days,
who’s to say He won't turn your rainfall
into sunshine in one moment?

 Oct 2018 Brianna
Sam Hammond
 Oct 2018 Brianna
Sam Hammond
It has turned to autumn now
But that's not what I see.
Where the leaves are brown and red
Is black and white to me.

Yes, the frost as gripped the air
As summer bids adieu,
But I was cold in mid July
So tell me what is new?

Soon the lakes will glaze with ice
That's carried in the breath
Of the autumns genesis;
Exhaling gelid death.

So, another season comes
Another season goes.
All that's dead remains as such
And all that's living grows.
All that's cold in self and touch
Will some day decompose.
Anything can
look like a poem
and sound philosophical
simply by moving
the words on
different lines.

Am I doing it right?
Is this

I think I am trying.
Really, I am
I go back and change the order
and I break lines
where it sounds right
But it does not take me long.
Not at all.

I try to be
and call it natural rhythm.
Instinct and style taking over
I alternate between
agonizing every detail
like When to Capitalize
and publishing free form poems without looking over them twice.

How is writing supposed to feel?
Should I labor?
or should it flow?
Or do I get to decide?

I think the things I talk of
mean something
at least.

But am I just

fooling myself into thinking that
using common poetry formats
somehow makes my work worthwhile?
Problems only We True Artists face.
 May 2018 Brianna
im not
 May 2018 Brianna
longing for you or
missing you

i just miss the time
when we were together
just us
I am such a baddass
I could list
My reasons
But girls would get ******

Beware to females
Who commit the heinous crime
Of  admitting they like themselves
 Feb 2018 Brianna
 Feb 2018 Brianna
If I could turn back time
I would hit Backspace all day,
Id put on Caps Lock
and SHOUT what I say.

I'd use the whole Alphabet
To tell you hello,
Press seven Numbers
Til your phone is aglow.

I'd Tab through the comments
I didn't want to hear,
And use the Arrow Keys
To drag your body near.

I would Delete the harsh words
I didn't mean to speak,
And Insert the "I love yous"
I before couldn't leak.

I would use Ctrl to
Keep reigns over my heart,
And I would Escape lies
That tore us apart.

I'd Print out your photo
And kiss it goodnight,
Use the Calculator
To check that it was right.

I'd Paint you a picture
of us, you and me,
Then I'd hit Enter
Just so you would see.

Those are the things
I would do in my strife,
If only Backspace
worked in real life.
This is the first poem (that I have a copy of) i wrote that I actually thought was good. I was in seventh grade, twelve years old, and I wrote it for a newspaper competition. I knew it was really great but I didn't think I would beat all other applicants in the state in my age group. So you can imagine my surprise I'm sure when I DID win! That is the first time I was proud of my writing. So this one has a lot of special sentimental value. Thanks for reading.
 Feb 2018 Brianna
Virginia Kasmi
You know that space between sleep and awake?
That place where you are thinking,
but not dreaming yet?
Right at that moment, right at that place it hurts the most.
I close my eyes and your silhouette appears at a dark street corner.
I stand next to you and we smoke in silence.
I spot us at Irish pubs drinking beer.
I see us in shapes and colors and lines,
Losing ourselves on crowded dance floors.
I feel your salty skin next to mine,
While whispering promises to each-other.
I follow us while getting lost in sunny unknown cities.
Passing by car lights cracking my thoughts,
I turn around in my empty bed and I want to feel the warmth of youth in a cold set of sheets.
My eyelids get heavy,
I am about to disconnect.
I get anxious as i drift away in the dark abyss of my subconscious.
It’s the place before sleep and awake,
where I love you the most,
but I still lose you when I dream.
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