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 Dec 2017 Wanderlust
capybara
my cat is smarter than the president
there is a problem with that
 Nov 2017 Wanderlust
bess
You are allowed to be angry.

You are allowed to be angry that you missed out on childhood.

That the sound of a slamming door terrifies you.

That the slightest touch of a hand makes you flinch.

You are allowed to be angry that it took you years to be able to look at yourself in the mirror.

You are allowed to be angry at the way you were treated.

You are allowed to be angry at people who hurt you.

You are allowed to be angry.
take a deep breath and love yourself a little more today
 Nov 2017 Wanderlust
nobyelse
and then I asked you,
"What's your biggest fear?"

you gave me a quivering sigh,
looked at me straight in the eyes
and said,

"It's that eventually, you will see me
the way I see myself."
Everyone is born with a lock on their heart and a key in their hand. But my lock was broken. No one could fit their key in, for my lock had been damaged as a little girl and the key I was given had been misshapen. Until you came along, your own key and lock had been broken many times as a child and somehow the exact dent that had made it impossible for you to find a fit had slipped perfectly between my ******* and clicked. Unlocking something I never thought would unlock. And my key, a key that had only been used once before without success fit inside your lock with a click as well. Each lock opening to show emotions we had kept so tightly closed. And as I looked into your eyes, each other's hearts open on display, I realized that maybe our "damaged goods" are only damaged to the wrong people. Because for each other we were the exact fit we needed.
We are watching the clouds
bandage an incarnadine sky,

we are practicing our best knots,
weaving an army of tourniquets,

we are slow-dancing
barefoot on the edge
of a razor.

We are watching
a demolition derby
in the driving rain,

the smell of motor oil
mixing with gasoline,

the hard melancholy
of dying machines.

We are waltzing from room to room,
smearing our names on the floor,

we are keeping time to slow music,
bleeding out behind closed doors.
 Oct 2017 Wanderlust
JD Harold
I wish for those days.
Where the tips of my fingers are cold,
And my insides are warm.

I desire those nights.
Where the headaches slowly arrive.
And the comforting tears flow.

I want those rare winter times.
Where there are pink skies within me.
And stormy nights.

Rain in California.
Love on my lips.
Peace contained in your eyes.
I was comfortable today.

— The End —