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I imagine you to be beautiful
Like the text that curls around your pages;
And you would move like your metaphors
Plain, simple, direct.
Classy.

You would surprise me
With bouquets of words -
Many of which I couldn't pronounce
Because I am young and naive.
l{one}l{I}ness
hurts like
one
e   m   p   t   y
cup of coffee while another sits
cold in the late afternoon light
full and a little bitter
like your stomach
it stings
like
too much wine -- or *****--
against chapped lips
at 10:45p.m.
finding a ****** wrapper under your bed
of trapped in the corners of your sheets
or cigarette cherries falling onto fuzzy
knee
caps
while Johny Cash
sings you into drunken sleep
al{one}
at
11:30 p.m.
it throbs like heads
and unanswered text messages
and bruises on your knees
the day
after
blinking dizzily into grey-morning-afternoon-night
waking up in a single bed
when the fires have gone out
makeup is smeared
and you realize you forgot to put on socks
it feels like that look on your face
when calls go unanswered
and pretty lingerie makes your skin look
bruised
when a dress meant for a party lies
crumpled in the corner of your bed
or your bathroom
damp and wrinkled
from showers taken at
3.am.
to burn out the lonely that
clings
like
your hands in his when you stop
being alone
or like perfume on a
black tee-shirt that you
borrowed months ago
it is comforting like cheap coffee
and relaxed smiles
of an entire box
of off-brand reeses cocoa puffs
with almond milk
of the taste of peach cigarillos
it is sweet like sweet red and dark chocolate
on a tuesday night
when you are in your underwear
or like listening to sad music
while shaving your legs
and buying a bottle of nail polish
because of the pun in the name on its
bottom
it is also addicting like
the smell of their sweat or
seeing their car parked at the gas station
and holding your breath
to see them
or counting the *******
band stickers on their bumper
to the beats of your heart
untill the lights turn green
it is like listening to ingrid michaelson
in a cold car or sitting
in a cheap orange chair in a coffeeshop
by yourself.
it is like drinking a bottle of wine before
5 p.m.
or watching the sun rise
over naked
january trees
when you haven't slept the night before
or the night before that
or the night before
or the night
before
जाने क्यों तेरी यांदो ने फिर सताया मुझको
जाने क्यों ये माँ तेरी बहुत ,
याद आ रही है
तेरा वो मुस्काना ,गले से लगाना
तेरी हर मीठी बाते ,याद आ रही है
मेरा तुम से यूँ रूठना और तेरा मानना
हाथ सर पे रख बेटा बेटा बुलाना
संग तेरे खाना ,यूँ तेरा हाथो से खिलाना
तेरी हर मीठी बात याद आरही है
जाने क्यों मेरे आँखों के आंसू थमते नहीं अब
तेरी यादे इस कदर मुझको तरपा रही
ये माँ तेरी बहुत याद आ रही है
ये माँ तेरी बहुत याद आ रही है.......
Professor, I was in the hospital all night
with a morphine drip;
shaking and crying as they
poked and prodded.  Really.

The ambiguous nature of your Philosophy class
makes me dizzy—
so I decided to find the meaning of life in a Starbucks cup,
frothy foam, and the banter of friendship.


Yes, Professor, I realize that I missed out on some key terminology,
not to mention a stimulating lecture
on the importance of faith, but

isn’t faith too personal for these stark walls,
your icy dissection?
I find more meaning in the pews of the local Catholic church
even though I am a devout Protestant.
Plus, the topic of Christ as a battering ram
did come up over my second double latte.


Certainly, Professor, I understand the importance of regular attendance.
I missed out on the chance to participate in colorful discussion—

not to mention how each of my comments is torn ear to ear,
scrutinized, or shunned altogether.
This room becomes larger by the word.
I much prefer this cozy table with its international
creamer choices.


Of course, Professor, I deeply value this class:

*It fulfills the Literacy requirement for what I really want to study.
The sun rays touching
Ocean waves reach up to greet
In harmony dance
 Feb 2013 Michelle Clarkson
AB
Its all a facade

Lipstick on filthy, putrid swine.
A silk tapestry gently lain
on a steaming pile of ****.

You live in a house of cards,
tread lightly, or it'll all collapse.
 Jan 2013 Michelle Clarkson
Sky
Michelle,

do not cry for anyone except yourself

do not cry for the dumb boys

with their hands in their pants

and their heads in the clouds

do not cry for them

because they do not have eyes

that could cry for you

Michelle,

do not cry for anyone except yourself

do not cry for the lonely girls

dancing in their rooms

and drowning in their boy friend’s spit

do not cry for them

because they will be fine in the morning

and so will you

so just keep ******* your honey packets

and be careful to not let disdain trickle out of your beehives

because it keeps getting you stung

by the bumbling boys attracted to it

but do not cry for them Michelle

because you are beautiful and brave

and you scare them

because they are not

Michelle,

do not cry for anyone except yourself
 Jan 2013 Michelle Clarkson
John
Things don't seem the same
When I walk the streets alone
I change a little every day
Can't really call any place my home
I slip in unnoticed
And slip myself out
I'm just like a ghost
I never make a sound

You don't know me
There's no way you can see me
I don't know myself
So how can you possibly?
I don't believe you
Your words are always falling
You're killing me slowly
But at night, I'm never bawling

I take it one step
Two steps are too much
At a single time
I can't handle very much
So just breathe
In and out with me
If you're not used too it
Just watch me and you'll get it
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