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 Sep 2014 a gale
Lonnie Nichole
I thought people actually loved us poets, but I was wrong.
We're only lusted after.
To be touched, then left, and never given what we write about.
On my journey of discovery
I've realized that,  sometimes
the weight of one's words are harder
to bear than one might expect
 Aug 2014 a gale
 Aug 2014 a gale
You were my first love
I still hope you chased me
I still wonder what could have happened
If you begged, if I stayed

What could have happened, honey?
I actually thought you and me
Would be the first one to sail
and the last one to fail

My, my, my lost boy
My Peter, my escape
The first promise to ever break
My first love, you were all mine to take.
i keep on dropping names. // aw man we called each other Nie for Honey THAT IS JUST DISGUSTING
 Aug 2014 a gale
Gaby Comprés
if i knew how to play
the guitar i would
write the sappiest love
songs for you
but sadly, darling, i am
musically impaired

if i knew how to paint
i would color
the most glorious sunsets
just for you
but sadly, darling, i am
artistically limited

if i knew how to sew
i would patch up
the torn seams
of your heart
but sadly, darling, i have no
idea how to use a needle

if i knew how to cook
i would make your
favorite desserts
to sweeten up your day
but sadly, darling, my
only specialty is burnt eggs

oh darling,
i am not good at many
things but if there is
one thing that i
can do well, oh my darling,
that is loving you.
 Aug 2014 a gale
we were all born crying.
wailing, raw pink lungs
choking, on new filtered air.

but maybe, we cry not because
of a cold chill
and fluorescent state of confusion,
but simply because we've been born once again.

maybe we cry because our past lives
will never repeat themselves-

no more grandkids, the splintered back porch with the hissing screen door,

no more ten day vacations at the spare house in Spain,

no more dates at a drive in, the 1981 firebird where the windows would always steam,

no handprints along glass,
footprints on the subway.

no more
"welcome home" kisses from your dog,
"goodnight" kisses from your wife.

when we are born,
maybe we cry because
in that simple movement toward new light
our hand lingers along the wall behind us,
and flips off the switch.

every painful lesson,
first times,
all of it recycled;
repetition that never comes to end.

maybe, we cry because
we have forgotten the words
of the song we know we've heard.
the one you once danced to
at your wedding;
the one they cried to, at your funeral.

maybe we cry because
we have forgotten the color of the ink
scratched on our past suicide notes.

maybe, because
we think the gunshot did not take us
to heaven.

but there are angels
and they don't wear halos and stroke harps-
they roam the earth.
instead of showing you the light,
they teach how to form the flame inside yourself.

we were all born crying.
and it is not from loss or fear itself;
not because our soul is homesick
for the house it can't recall-
we cry for the warmth of our mothers worn hands.
the new rhythm slow in her chest,
amber hair falling
from the foreign ***** of her shoulder;

we are just one soul on this journey
body to body, heart to heart.
maybe we cry because
in that moment, we ourselves realize
that each life is, a miracle.
 Aug 2014 a gale
Maybe if I step on
enough flowers
or break
I just might forget
I'm made of broken parts
my fave piece </3
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