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An open letter to anyone who has anything to say, and to anyone who wants to listen.

Dear you,

"Tell me about yourself."
The four worded, 19 lettered statement should be a simple one. The answer should be as basic as your favourite colours and the names of the bands that you listen to when you're driving down the highway and you're the only one in the car. The statement shouldn't send one into panic, it shouldn't send one's mind into a frenzy, a clunking of moving machinery, clicking and turning to try and produce the correct answer, and coming up with only a stuttering silence. The answer should be simple, but the word should is a paradox in itself, for anything that should be, has a reason for not being, and therefore shouldn't. A confusing paradox, but nonetheless, still a paradox. The reason the simplicity of these answers contain the word should, is because the answer really isn't so simple after all. The definition of yourself should not be confined to the limits of your favourite colours and of your favourite songs, for we are so much more than the colours we prefer and the music we listen to. There's a reason we are so much more, because for every simple answer, there is a why. Why is that colour your favourite? Perhaps it is because the boy you loved when you were sixteen had eyes the colour of a blue sky, so now whenever someone asks you your favourite colour, your mind automatically remembers his eyes staring into yours, and your mouth blurts out the first colour it sees; blue. Or perhaps because the day your mother died she was wearing a yellow t-shirt, so now the colour of the yellow sunshine is your favourite because it is the only thing that reminds you of her.
You see, there is more to an answer than just a simple answer, because for every thing we love there is a reason why we love it.
So, you can imagine that distress upon hearing the inevitable question, because where is one to begin? Do you begin with the colour of his eyes that for some, **** reason, are the only colour you can think of? Or do you begin with the beating of your heart when you meet someone knew? Do you begin by saying "hey, I'd really like to answer this, but you see, I have social anxiety and the thought of letting you inside of my brain is honestly quite terrifying"? I doubt the words would be able to swim through the opening of your mouth, pour out like a waterfall and crash into the ears of those who are trying to hear.
And so, when I first hear the statement, I don't know where to begin, but likewise, I don't know where to end. Is there too much you can say when you first meet someone? If I am being completely honest, I'd love to tell you it all. I'd love for the words to crash into my mouth and pour out, for them not to be stopped by the filter that is controlled by my brain. There are many things I'd like to say, but I'm afraid you don't want to hear them. Should I begin? Should I tell you all the things I am so afraid to say? Will you listen?
Maybe, if you smile at me just right, and your eyes lock with mine, I'll be able to let the words come out. So smile, nod your head, and don't be afraid to listen to what people have to say.

Sincerely, me.
PS. I hope one day you are there to listen, and that on that day the sun is shining and the sky is blue, and the words flow out of me before I get the chance to stop them.

- Maybe if we all said what we wanted to say the first time, life would be easier [s.s]
I look out the window
As the world
Whizzes by

I sit there
And create this poem in my mind
Miles away from the earth

Me with my head in the clouds
Constant ideas and constant dreams
Being born in my head

I used to try to write those ideas
And express them in a story
With my own characters

That was before I discovered poetry
Now I have no need
For all the uncompleted stories I have made
 Jun 2016 A Psalmist
Claire Ellen
One Sunday I was praying that I wasn't pregnant;
The next I was saying goodbye to orphan kids,
   praying to help me change.
Now, to guilty to pick up a Bible,
To guilty to pray a prayer,
I am asking that I am not pregnant again.
This world will toss and turn you,
it will hurt and bruise you.
I have learned the only refuge is God,
The only forgiveness that is pure is Jesus' blood,
and the only way to talk to them sometimes is through the holy spirit groans.
I loved who I was, I love who I have become.
But the guilt inside from the past few months...
its eating me alive.
I don't want to be worried about pregnancy from randoms;
Nor do I want to waste my time thinking of guys anymore;
I'm done with the outfit of a really fun girl,
its time to grow up,
its time to move on.
I know what I want in life, I just need to strive.
I know who I want in life, I just need to stop messing around.
When you travel to a place that changes your life,
it first changes your skin:
   You get tan and work hard, you learn what it is to want for food, and long for God.
It then changes your muscles:
     You grow a little tougher when the boy was taken from your arms and given back to his abusive father.
It sinks into your bones:
   You start to realize the life you are living is worth nothing if you don't start to change something.
Then it creeps, slowly to your heart:
    You feel guilty and half of you wants to change, but your brain is still stuck on the "fun" you are having.
Life is simple, love and be loved,
but honey, when you live the life I live,
Love takes on a new meaning, its tougher than what you'd think.
Its more complicated than the four letters that make it up.
But, its still here, waiting for me to open my ribs, and absorb it all.
 Jun 2016 A Psalmist
Claire Ellen
Teddy bear your my ride or die
you've seen me laugh, hear my cry
you've been squeezed and thrown
      loved and forgotten.
How could something so inaminent bring joy an life?
When I was small I picked you up
the snowflake on your sweater was just enough.
Holding my hand, going on road trips,
you've been everywhere with me.
You are my ride or die.
 Jun 2016 A Psalmist
Sara B
I’m starting to believe that maybe love is an amalgamation of every other feeling but happiness. And that maybe happiness will always work like an anomaly. A sometimes, sporadic product of all those feelings blue and fierce.
I'd like to thank the devil on my back for keeping my eyes
focused on the angel in my life

May my fragile feet fail me no more
May your open arms save me from the storm.

I feel fire raining from on high
I feel fire, not above, but just behind

Hold me in your everlasting arms
Hold this world together, safe from harm, even as it tears me apart
 Jun 2016 A Psalmist
xmxrgxncy
Just because it looks like I'm paying attention
doesn't necessarily mean
that I'm not pondering Shakespeare.

Roses are running through my irises,
pentameter bleeds through my veins,
and inwardly,
Macbeth reigns.

So know that when you look my way,
I may be listening in...
But more than likely, you will find
Shakespeare will always win.
For eating my sandwich
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