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 Apr 2017 Olivia L
ej
I watch the hours slide by
waiting for the flames to die
and I reflect on the meaning of
potential

I am a moth and you're a light
and restraint is my mind's only fight
because these feelings for you are
torrential
 Apr 2017 Olivia L
ej
Will you lay with me
under trees so blue and skies so pink?

Our skin will be warm and the
wind will be sweet, and in our
hearts we'll know time is a fallacy

I could lose my way in your eyes,
so please let me let myself start
thinking in color and become full
of love again
 Mar 2017 Olivia L
ej
The Photograph
 Mar 2017 Olivia L
ej
Uniform march searching for our mark,
pens in hand we seek to be unique

Speeches of futility and grace could not
hold us down as well as our own ambitions --

I saw a photograph in my mind the
other day, and we were in it before
a fountain, and the sky was like snow --

Black blood poured from your eyes and
water from mine, and the only things
moving were our hearts and our minds

(Your fingers are a chisel and my
skin is marble gray)
 Mar 2017 Olivia L
ej
Pouring Out
 Mar 2017 Olivia L
ej
I'd rather be drunk in your arms
depending on someone beside myself
for once

I want soft lights and sweet water on
my lips, red from kissing yours, eyes
half-shut with relief

I see gentle dreams indistinguishable
from reality, my hands on your skin,
fingers loose and muscles lax
 Mar 2017 Olivia L
ej
Make Me Silver
 Mar 2017 Olivia L
ej
Let's plunge into delirium
lost in our own suffering
bathed in blood and oil,
I want to lose any illusion
of purity

Of soul and body I want
you to consume me,
and I you but only this
skin-deep terror holds us back
 Mar 2017 Olivia L
Delaney
Fourteen
 Mar 2017 Olivia L
Delaney
if every year of my life
were a chapter
and I could only remove one
from my story:
I would tear out chapter 14.

I would rip all the pages,
mutilate beyond repair,
shred. Shred shred shred
burn burn burn until
nothing was left but ashes.

14, when I was naive.
14, when I thought kissing a boy
would make even me think that I
was straight, 14
when a hot summer event suddenly
burned me hotter than the sun
ever could, because
at 14, a boy I called friend
didn’t listen.

14, he’s in my house,
14, he’s in my room,
14, he’s on top of me,
14, he’s forcing his way in me and I…
I am telling him to stop.

14, my cries go ignored,
14, he’s stronger than me,
14, my parents aren’t home,
14, I didn’t tell anyone he was coming,
14, he could hurt me if I run,
14…where would I even run to?

Shame; Shame because 14
is the story of when I said stop…
and then stopped trying to stop
what I wanted to stop and had asked
for to stop in the first place but
he did not listen to the word
‘stop.’

14, when fear paralyzed me.
14, when what was less than an hour
felt like a lifetime. 14
was crying when he finally left,
14 was seeing blood and knowing
it wasn’t my menstrual cycle.
14 was when my whole life
changed.

In chapter 14 I had innocence
stolen. In 14 I started high school;
where I had two classes with him
everyday.

14 was acting like it was fine,
I was fine, it was all fine,
until it wasn’t, and
14 was police reports and questions
and being accused of lying,
14 was “He’ll get what’s coming to him.”
But we are chapters away from that now and
justice has never once been applied, and
he roams free and
I still feel trapped under his body.

Chapter 14 would be entitled
“****”
and I would erase it from my story
if only such an action
were possible.

(d.d.b)
This is likely the most personal thing I've ever written.
 Mar 2017 Olivia L
ej
Feared
 Mar 2017 Olivia L
ej
You feared you would tear us apart
like you did last year and I told you
that I would never let that happen again

Three months until the truth of my
powerlessness came to light, and my
only option was to let you drift away

And when our eyes meet I feel not even
the common affection shared between friends,
and when I speak to you your head turns as if
we had never before this moment met

I am a pursuant who runs and goes nowhere,
and though my legs grow strong and my lungs
learn to feel pain I feel guilty for letting myself
spend so much time on you

I know not to regret past decisions because they
made me who I am, and there's not a single thing
I regret about you, I just can't help but tell you that

It hurts how we let this die so quietly
swore to god i wouldn't linger on you
 Mar 2017 Olivia L
Daisy C
So tell me why you never loved us?
Is it because we speak the truth?
To be honest I'm not even sure why we're doing this anymore
You're lying
Stop trying
I know you don't care
Look at the big picture and step back
Are you happy?
Or do you feel numb?
Stop trying to hide them
All the memories on your face
Not gonna say I don't miss them
Because for the most part I do
Thats the hardest thing of all
I miss the old you
I wish you loved us as much as we have loved you

So tell me now why did you ever love us?
 Feb 2017 Olivia L
desyana rachma
I recently became viral on the social chatting platform Line, my poetry  and articles earning hundreds, even thousands of likes and shares and comments. Some even requested to be my friend via timeline, despite us not knowing each other. There are stranger’s chats every once in a while, mostly praises. But some, very little amounts lasts on my saved messages, saying,

“You look like someone who is open-minded and tolerant, it’s such a shame that you wear a conservative hijab.”
Or,

“Not to be rude or anything, but there’s only little you can do by writing these critics in this platform. So why bother doing it at all?”

And,

“I am conflicted. I want to continue my education, but I would also like to settle down as well. People tell me to choose only one, because a woman is incapable of being so many at once. Which one should I choose? P.S.: I love your works. it is the very first time in such a long while that something has made me feel closest to being human.”

Human. (a) relating to or characteristic of people or human beings.

I am nine years old and listening to my father, acting as a preacher, delivering his speech in the weekly sermon. He talks of love and compassion that the religion teaches, on how that our faith, in the end of the day, welcomes everyone so long as they are good people.

I am nine years old when my mum found out that I have befriended Cho, the girl that recently moved from China to this quiet town halfway across her origin country. No other girls were talking to her because of her funny accent and her different physique and her obscure cross-necklace. My mom had been furious, saying, “You should not befriend her, for she is not—“

Human. (n) of or characteristic of people's better qualities, such as kindness or sensitivity.

There is this man that everybody adored back in highschool. His tall frame and his charming smile made every girl swoon at the sight of him. Everyone watched in fascination as he grew to be the star of our school, his top-notch grades and countless achievements and perfect everything reflecting perfection in every second of his presence.

Those are the words his estranged brother tearfully delivered, an eulogy for that Star, now laying still on the open coffin top the church’s altar. Last afternoon, he shocked everyone by saying goodbye far too sudden. the droplets of blood from his slit wrist still fresh in our minds, as we witnessed his soul slowly leaving his form in that dingy, bathroom stall. His name was—

Human. (a) of, relating to, or affecting people.

My friend Casey’s brother is shrieking when we barged into his room, intending to borrow his collections of comic books to read. We froze, as i took the sight of him wearing one of her dresses—one which she later said she thought was lost in the laundry—and a light makeup on his face. He was pale and tearful, his arms covering himself as if in shame. I have no idea on what to say.

“Please do not tell dad.” He said to Casey, shaky voice lacing his words. “If he finds out, he will send me away because I’m not normal, because I’m not—“

Human. (n) a human being, especially a person as distinguished from an animal or (in science fiction) an alien.

We are constantly prideful of being the most developed living beings on earth, with advanced technology and elaborated system to sustain a worldwide multicultural society. We are the best, they said. We are lucky, they said.

I walked home one evening, seeing homeless shivering from the cold and the ignorance of people. Some of them wrote “Have nor eaten in days” on their limp cardboard. I looked up to a flock of birds heading north, no doubt going back to their nest with full stomach and enough supplies for their chirping children at home.

I looked back at the beggars, and wondered who exactly is the lucky one.

Human?

And what are we, but drifting spectrum across this massive universe? What defines us, if it is not our flaws and errors and turmoils, dragging us to fall and get back up through life? What do we believe, if not hopes and dreams and wishes that people deemed impossible?

I still cannot grasp this entire internet fame. But I will continue on writing. For it is what defines me, and it is what makes me,

Human.
 Nov 2016 Olivia L
ej
turushno
 Nov 2016 Olivia L
ej
And I begin to wonder
When the rain will start to end
And my mind will become normal
And God's back will start to bend

When the sun will fall to Earth
And the ground will crack again
When my lover says hello
And my tender heart will rend

I will start to cry again
Eyes as streams of vitriol
And in myself I'll find a friend
Answering my heart's own call

There's a bridge beneath my feet
And there's smoke in my twin lungs
I'm scared this wood is burning
Searing through these fragile strings

I've been searching an escape
That which I cannot find
Buried so deep in this dirt
I'd be better off alive

So please, I plead of myself:
Save me
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