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 Nov 2017 Rebel Heart
Anya
When the judge asked what I was thinking, I replied “no comment.”
What really came to mind was the betrayal, the fury, the angst, that I feel on a daily basis.
I can’t get through a single day without thinking about what you’ve done.
You’ve hurt me.
Not physically, no, but my heart is bruised and broken and there are scars on all my thoughts.
Some days I try to think of the good times we had together.
Going fishing, walking through the woods, fixing stupid broken cars...
But then your stupid mistake pops back into my mind and “I HATE YOU” follows close behind.
What you did was disgusting and from here on I out I choose to say “no comment”.
People don’t deserve to know what you did, you don’t deserve that kind of publicity.
You weren’t with me for my 17th birthday, you don’t see how much I’ve grown in the past 10 months.
And when your birthday passed by, it was as if you didn’t even exist.
Father’s Day was the same way too, because your fatherhood should not be celebrated.
Seeing you now, and hearing the frustrating plea deal you got disgusts me.
Three years of parole and you’re off the hook.
I have to carry this with me for a lifetime but you only get 1,095 days with it.
Do you know how many days are in the average lifetime? 27,765 days.
Your sentence is no where near as damaging as mine.
You will never know how I feel.
You will never care to ask.
You will never see me graduate, or get married, or have a family of my own.
You will be far, far away from me.
Maybe you’ll rot in a pickup truck like your own father.
Or maybe you’ll waste your days away and sit in your own filth like your mother.
But do not ever drag me down to that hell with you.
Don’t ever talk to me.
I don’t need your apology and I don’t need your love.
So when the judge asks “Do you have anything to say?”
I suggest you tell him “no comment.”
To the ******* who ******* up the rest of my life.
 Nov 2017 Rebel Heart
Lizzy K
Someone
asked me if I
knew you
             A million
memories flashed
through my mind
but I just smiled and said I used to
BY wiz khalifa
it's been so long since i drank in the words of poets

i haven't touched the ink in weeks

my muse has been still and quiet

no more than a whisper

just in the peripheral of my mind's eye

i have a desperate yearning

words that won't leave my fingers

emotions chained within me

locked in the paper prison of my mind

i haven't touched the ink in weeks

it's been so long since i drank in the words of poets
I miss my friends that have left
Lost in a place that isn't right
My heart now has no guest
My heart wanders as a foreign stranger
All alone, never would have guessed
In the end I should have known
I am shaken in the excess
My needs know only deprivation
Oddly enough I decided to stylize this poem a bit. Rhymes mixed with antonyms on alternating lines.
Diwali-
A festival of lights
Let the light in
And accept the darkness
From within!
Diwali is the festival of light
Showing us to focus on the brighter side of the darkness.
Happy Diwali to all of you!
 Oct 2017 Rebel Heart
bess
There is no such thing as a child of an alcoholic. There are children, and then there are alcoholics. One will never harmonize with the other.

Because alcoholics are never parents. They are shells, empty casings of love mixed with a burning taste of whiskey.

They are echoes of slurred, “Goodnight, I love you.” and “See you in the morning.” Each word filled with love, but blinded by the haze of liquor, so strong it fills your eyes with tears.

But most importantly, a child of an alcoholic will never be a child. No matter their age, they have gained the experience of those five times their age. They have watched life end with each tip of the bottle, but begin again when the sun breaks through their window.

I read stories about children who spend their days without a care in the world. And as a child, I wanted nothing more than that for myself. I wanted the carelessness, not the impossible burden of responsibility and secrecy that I held, hand in hand with resentment and hatred for the people who raised me.

There is no such thing as a child of an alcoholic. It’s not that we don’t exist— we do. But a child will never be a child when their parents can never be a parent.
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