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 May 2016 Proxii
Sarah
You’re like all the nice parts of everyone I’ve ever dated.
Except there’s none of the parts I hated. 

I wanna make you breakfast every morning, nap with you every afternoon. 

Wake up to dessert on the kitchen table. 

You bring out all the parts that hide from me 

A trigger filled landmine

You’re my landline but ******* I’m lying if I say I’m fine 

Because I’m ****** up and the truth *****
That I want nothing more than your touch 

Say it again, run away with me

We’ll sit in the sand 

Take my hand

And we’ll wash away our sins like the day we were baptized that one Sunday 

But we don’t believe anymore 

And you don’t call me like you used to 

Trying to forget the mess you made 

Telling myself that it will be okay

Though you’re in my head fifty times a day 

Of course I’ll pick apart every word you ever said 

Turning them over between my fingers

And I remember 

The way your hair smells like honeysuckle 

And your laugh feels like velvet
Your skin, like silk. 

Or my favorite **** rug, depending on the day.
Except you’re not turquoise, but I would nap on you every **** day. 

Coming up with words to fight this tugging in chest.

And I’m trying so hard to forget the imprint you left on me. 

But I can’t seem to get my **** together.
Fighting a one sided battle, within this skull of mine.

Arguing with reality, for its lacking credibility.
Had a date with the reaper.
Handed me the shovel, I told him I needed to wait. 

Because while my lungs struggle for air

I’d rather feel this way

For it’s a sign that I’m alive

And that you’re in my life

If only when I sleep 

So, I’ll meet you in my dreams

Where we have no fear

I promise to court you every night

So that you wake up embraced by the beautiful light 

See you on the other side
 May 2016 Proxii
jane taylor
i hear the loudest
in the quiet

©2016janetaylor
 May 2016 Proxii
Romali Arora
Wouldn't it be great
If we just had nights
We could be lost in the thoughts
Forever; all the time....
For people who are deep thinkers, night time is often 'their time'. The time when they lose themselves in thoughts, often interpreting the unsaid things, trying to make meaning and sense of life. What if nights never ended and there were no days? How would life be like for such self-made philosophers?
 May 2016 Proxii
Romali Arora
Everyone who met her
Admired her for what she was
Perfectly crafted
Without any flaws
But come closer
And you will see
She's not as perfect,
as she seems to be
She has flaws
And scars too deep
She's been broken
But is afraid to heal
She's scared to open her heart
And pour it out
To make herself vulnerable
And to bring her walls down
She's been degraded and walked upon
Lied to and cheated on
So don't you call her a masterpiece
She's a living hurricane, a mess
A beautiful mess
Of terrible chaos
People often call her a masterpiece. But no one has seen her as closely. She has her flaws and scars, she's been betrayed and cheated upon. She comes across as a calm ocean but delve deeper and you'll see how deep her emotions run. Shes afraid to let her walls down, for she has been let down more than a couple of times. She's afraid to open her heart to anyone who cannot handle her emotions. She's not a masterpiece! She's a mess; a mess of terrible chaos.
 May 2016 Proxii
Jeanine Fae Borg
In fairytales and fantasies,
My parents would always say,
That a Magician so talented,
Would someday find his way.

And what way should he seek?
In fields of dust and harrowed meek,
And in his path he should depart,
Into my beating heart.

But he is a Magician after all,
A bewitcher, a deceiver, a devil at the ball.
Who tricked and hoaxed me,
By the time of nightfall.

So curse you Magician,
And the lies you have said,
After all your trickery,
Was that you never cared.


J.F.B
 May 2016 Proxii
jane taylor
precious innocent soul
skipping rocks
on cobblestone roads
vulnerable untarnished pure
no residue of earthly soil

return me to that naiveté
unburdened by layers
of fake masks
and perfect capped teeth
in narcissistic societies

but I shan’t grasp
at ethereal edges
of nebulousness
and ephemeral
innocence

i shall endure
what I abhor
a master’s soul
cannot be forged
in paradise

wisdom’s essence
‘tis not pristine white
hints of ivory
tinge the effervescence
of the sage’s breath

©2016janetaylor
 May 2016 Proxii
Johnathan locke
Nothing new and nothing old,
Nothing bought and nothing sold.
Nothing to tell who we were,
But our bones on our earth.
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