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 Apr 2017 Dana Colgan
nmo
algorithms
 Apr 2017 Dana Colgan
nmo
wake up at six 6am.
grab my phone.
check my feed.

you are always
there.
first post.
always wearing
your beautiful
smile.

maybe the algorithm
realized how
i stare at our photos,
some nights
before sleeping.

maybe he
makes the sum
of our unsaid words
and multiplies it
by those nights
i fell asleep in
your chest.

maybe he
never heard
our fights.
the shouting,
the crying.
or maybe he did
but just choose
to keep them
out of the equation.

maybe he
knows
you are still
the first person
i think of
when i wake.

i scratch my eyes
and keep scrolling.
 Apr 2017 Dana Colgan
Hannie
Love was not shaped like a heart but a question mark
Too many wonders, Too many questions
I knew love was open-minded, love was optimistic
I knew love inside and out
But love remained a question mark, unsure of the love, love found with me.

Love changed
Love silently became an exclamation point
Love had clouded thoughts, twisted feelings
Love felt happiness, sadness, madness
But beneath all of those, love gave out silent cries - I have never heard.

Love, then again, changed
Love took on a shape of a comma
Love became afraid of ending the sentence, ending us
Love made us complex, made us complicated
Love had a lot of pauses in between the non-stop wishing and non-stop desires
Love hated itself

Love wanted to change
And he did
Love finally became a period
Because commas were suffocating and periods end suffocation
But love, love did not just end the sentence, nor the paragraph, nor the story
Love ended us

But here I am, standing in front of Love again
Staring at the Love who's oh so different again
Love was not just one dot but three
Love became an ellipsis
Love wished for more of our story
Love hopes to continue us
Love started wondering about the possibility of having us again
Love wanted us again
Love is slowly turning back into a question mark again.
A school requirement that brings satisfaction only to me who wants to have a good grade in her philosophy class.
 Apr 2017 Dana Colgan
Ash
Is this a feeling? Or is it a phase? Feelings are temporary but I've been isolated in this pain for so long I don't know how to live without it. I breathe fresh air and its foreign to my lungs for I've been drinking up this toxic tragedy too long
Love hate pain feeling depression tragedy pain sadness heart heartache heartbreak like happy life
The ugly poetess
Over the housetops,
Above the dry blades of the sugar cane husks
I have known fear, I have known hunger
I felt the pain of a nail wound deep in my foot
I belted out the blues like Nina Simone
An era of reform: the moments of truth,

On top of the hill, lies a village in Barbados
Acid rain, rooftop leaks on to my bed
It was a rough year:
only food sources were rice and breadfruits
We lived through it all:

It was my destiny:
To love and to hate them:
those old fruit loops

Through the eyes of a uprising poet
The curving of his pen,
Somehow, he made amends, he purge
the smoky air,
the disgusting sight of the pig pens
out of his mind

lack of personal dental hygiene,
the elders lost their teeth
Grinding down on sugarcane, while they
awaits the big meal of the day
Supper!

With innocent eyes and achy feet
I read so many books for inner peace

My stomach was empty,
but my mind was at ease
To dream big while aiming high

Marlene, Delores, and Linda
Known as the vanishing three
Migrated to North America
Where a Barefooted child
like me wasn’t supposed to be
Eventually, I know I would have followed

I have woven my feathers,
while looking upwards,
In my little corner under the old rusty galvanizes
.
At the old country shop the vanishing three mothers
told me that I wasn’t pretty enough to leave the island
Words of hatred, mere words of discomfort
I felt my wings tighten against my rib cage,
My tongue, glued against my jaws

From that day forward the poet smile against stupidity
And spitefulness, she too had come to
Eat her words, the old shopkeeper

The poetess enter another line from that era
Uncaring beauty without brains
Where are they now?

I walked with confident down that street
The misty air moist my skin
The poetess return to the Island of Barbados
Without the sugar in her blood..
.
 Apr 2017 Dana Colgan
mrmonst3r
through streets like open sores
I'm here.
hissing chatter
Invading my skull,
creeps down my spine.
pressure building.
it's all in your head.
You are the only one here,
feeling like this.
I'm outside, standing in the street —
Sun on tired eyes.
worms pushing
under my skin.
9am.
the doors are open.
Your appointment,
try not to cry.
But they don't understand,
you look human.
"Don't you want to work?"
"What do you enjoy doing?"
no. good.
let me bite     my ****** misery
and pour it
                 down  
      your throat.
 Apr 2017 Dana Colgan
Donielle
A leap, a
second,
a deep breath.
Splash.
The Earth swallows me
wrapping me in splendor -
and for a moment I forget.
Relief and satisfaction
envelops me.
However long
I may, I will allow my body
to glide just beneath the surface,
like silk against itself
or upon a newly shaven leg,
until the last air escapes me.
When I return
and I submerge only my ears,
the sounds of my breathing
remind me
that I can
still
feel,
and there is time.
But for now,
I'll just breathe.
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