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 Jan 2018 J
River
You're a sheet on a clothes line
Dancing with the winter winds
Pinned on that gritty string
Waiting for the day your soul will be allowed with all your being, to sing
Your hands are those of a worker,
A simple and practical man
Your face, I remember from long ago
When I looked into a river
From which the rich rain flowed
On this course I must go
Down to this road
That only few know
Please don't whisper in their ears
Where I plan to go
After all these years
Cause it's good time
That I go away
The time is now
And I won't let one more minute stray
No more clinging to the wind
These seeds in my hand
I will plant in ripe soil
No more vain and useless toil
I will not let my heart's musings spoil
There shall be a great unfolding,
In due time
I will plant the seeds today
And reap my harvest for a more promising day
For that sweet future is so near,
It awaits
I feel it so clear
Like the kiss of a cool breeze on my face
This day, this future is near
I can, I can almost hear
The cheerful buzz of spring
Ringing in my ears
I look into your limitness eyes
And I just know,
Our great unfolding is so close, so near
It's almost here.
 Jan 2018 J
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.
 Jan 2018 J
nanda
change the stars ;
 Jan 2018 J
nanda
i wish i could change my stars
wish i could reach them with my hands
place them in my eyes
mold a new fate
start anew

i wish i could erease the past
wipe it clean
paint a new begining
a new me
a new you

i wish i could create new words
gift then to you
so you could sing them to me
play them on your strings

i wish we could love as we once did
forget what was
bleed a new story
spoil us with love and happiness

i wish for so many things
to change our stars
our lost love
our forgotten hope
but the stars are far away
and my grasp is too weak
to hold you in my arms
always loved the idea..
 Jan 2018 J
Not Lauren
Winter has tortured me for years, with each year bringing a bigger blizzard to battle. The ice cold, barren feeling drifting within me felt all too much like home.

With a touch as gentle as the sun's first kiss, and patience more plentiful than the stars painted in the clear night sky, I found myself taking shelter from the storm I'd been putting myself through in the most unexpected place. The branching frost that once took root deep inside released its icy grip upon me and in return, a soul as warm as summer filled the gaps left behind.

A friend, a home, a declarer-of-love, a lover-of-the-seasons; he taught me I didn't need to shiver every time I peaked at myself in the mirror over tortoise-rimmed glasses... he sensed the warmth I was capable of. The lengthening of nights doesn't equal a shortening of hope.

I'm no longer gripped by the trembling fear of my own self. My skies have cleared. Winter is my Summer.
A note on seasonal affective disorder. Thank you Colin for showing me how to be warm again.
 Jan 2018 J
Nicole Dawn
A heart of stone
A girl alone

You came along,
You broke up the rock
It took time but
Slowly
It became soil

You were gentle
You were sweet
You grew a garden
It took time but
Slowly
It became flowers

You were lying
You were cruel
You left the garden
It took time but
Slowly
The flowers died

You were gone
I was lost
The garden was forgotten
It took time but
Slowly
The dirt turned to dust

A heart of dust
A lack of trust
Wow this is painfully bad but its a first draft so whatever
 Jan 2018 J
imperfectwords
"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 fumble for my next dose
Blue chalky circles spill
Onto white linoleum
Clicking for every lost meal
Bounce like My shaky hands
No interest in obeying
Nobody ever stopped asking for an answer.

My first vice
Dependant on malnutrition
addiction, in fear
fists coming down, off the high.
there is no such thing as a familiar crash
Always a new drug.
hands struggle without muscle
We shake together.
Indulged in recall
Dissolved in water.

I sometimes feel bad for my first upper
Too quick to cheat
Carbonated me fat
Made my teeth fall out
Drew me into television
Tom and Jerry became my bedtime
I gorged myself on escapism.
After a seisure I would regret that much of this new drug.
I ration just enough
She forces my shaky hand
Insist I never talk to her while the show is on
the show is everything.
a vacuum, dusty room, spotless television
There is never a crash.
Only crippling mania

I won't **** this new addiction..
Her absence is a gateway to new powders
this Killing drug gave me the power to stop craving more.
There is closure in calling a poison by it's first name.
We call ourselves poison from the very beginning.

the little blue pills are my escapists cure.
I always go back to coffee
kept warm, by an indulgence I can hold around family.
I've a curious tongue, an educated pallete.
Seven years slinging uppers, black.

Before I learned how to read a clock
All I wanted was for it to snow
In maine, I'm skeptical when not frozen.
If I made a snow angel, I would never come down.

Snow makes beautiful quicksand.
It's hard to inhale when drowning.
I am also more likely to expand my pallete on oxygen alternatives when drowning.

The ocean has infectious curiousity
Sirens dwell there for a reason.

if I had a boat.
I wouldn't make it past the poppys

Thankfully, I do not have a boat.
Only weak Coffee
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