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 Jun 2015 Aaron Combs
RJ
She was the unfinished puzzle
She was the guitar with broken strings
She was the meadow stripped of green
She was the crooked table of support
She was the inner voice of reason

She was the dream forgotten leaving a shadow of frustration
She was the rush of a fresh storm promising heavy rain
She was the ever-changing bricks in a decaying building
She was the wrecking ball extinguishing it from existence

She was the heaven-sent false prophet
She was the flower ripped from its stem
She was the blank pages of a neglected book
She was the dust covering all abandoned objects
She was the frustration in desire

She was the locked door
She was the vacant room
She was the thought with no voice
She was not love
Metaphors are the closest we can get to putting our feelings into words that people can understand. Everyone perceives things differently as they're judged against their own personal experiences.
 Jun 2015 Aaron Combs
Violet Blue
I went to my church
Well Youth group tonight
And we went to this Worship
We all sang the worship songs
and tried to feel the presence
You probably don't care
But this was big for me
I felt the holy spirit
And I am fully
In belief of God
Right now
I felt the Holy Spirit
And started crying
which is normal
for some people
to cry when they feel it
And yeah :)
Your first love's that person on the prologue of your love story
Your true love's the minor character at the start but the epilogue of your glory
Your first love's the one who leaves tears where there was laughter
Your true one wipes those tears and lives with you happily ever after
Your first love's the one you trust at first sight and doubt at last
Your true love's the one you doubt but ultimately fall and wholly trust
Your first love's the one you think you'll never forget in your lifetime
Your true love's the one not worth remembering but you never forget
Your first love's either the
first person whose heart you break
or the one who breaks your heart
Your true love's either the person
whose shattered heart you heal
or who heals & steals your hurt
I know sometimes first love can be true but
Your first love's most times the fantasy that drowns the sailor
And chains but true love's the reality you finally settle for,your "bailor"
 Jun 2015 Aaron Combs
Dust Bowl
I'm 13 the first time a boy in my class tells a **** joke.
I'm only 13, but it's been 2 years since I learned the seriousness of the thing him and his friends are now laughing at.
2 years since I had my favorite night shirt ripped from my back.
2 years since nails carved scars in my thighs my mother still thinks are from self harm.
2 months since I started blocking it out.

I'm 13 when a girl takes my backpack while I m putting my books in my locker,
Playfully yells over her shoulder,
"***** you".
I laugh.
I don't dare tell her what it's like to remake your bed at 4 in the morning,
Or what it's like to fight back tears when you ask your grandmother for new sheets for Christmas.
To only ever associate the summer heat with what it felt like that night between your legs.

About a year ago I watched the chronicles of Narnia for the first time with my dad.
It was one of my favorites growing up.
He says, "someone should **** that *****" when the witch kills Aslan,
And I stop myself from screaming at him that he had "the talk" with me a little too late,
That I lost my virginity to a man his age when there were still stuffed animals on my bed.
I don't tell him that I still shake when i have to be alone with him even though I know he would never hurt me,
Or that sometimes I still think I deserved it.

I sweat through my shirt everytime I try to write about it.
My best friend says she doesn't care who her first time is, that she just wants to lose it already,
But I wish I could make that choice.
I have lost control of my hands from the shaking when boys have asked me if I was a ****** over text message,
And have locked myself in bathrooms to sob because my sister said boys don't love girls who aren't pure.
I have heard girls called ***** who haven't gone as far as me,
And it feels like arsenic is in my veins everytime someone asks me how I know so much about *** if I haven't had it yet.
Or how my best friend told me she wants to hear about my first time because people still assume that triggers are only on guns,
And that every ******* romance movie is the perfect depiction of what losing your virginity is like.

We don't all get the soft music and the whispered names.
Sometimes you get hands over your mouth and years of ptsd,
Sometimes the I love yous get replaced with "don't wake your parents".
Sometimes I still feel like no boy should ever have to subject themselves to touching me,
For fear they might leave with their hands tainted.

You will never understand fear until you're looking at the boy across the room and thinking about what he'd look like without his clothes on,
Never understand depression until the tile of the bathroom floor is warmer than your thoughts.

I was 13 the first time I heard a **** joke,
And 18 the first time I told someone it wasn't funny.
Because for every second you laugh, I have spent years picking up the shattered pieces of my innocence.
Because it took me 7 years to realize that 20 minutes of not having control will never destroy the 3,681,641 minutes I have spent taking care of myself since it happened.
That the only person who will ever own this body is me.
That no amount of cheap laughs can undo the progress I have made.
So keep laughing.
His world is full of impressions
He lives with his ambition
He breathes with his passion
His eyes are filled with devotion
He likes pouring his emotions
His mind is full of treasures
His smile is carved
On the sycamore tree trunk
#admiration
Am I the only one you follow home
From the subway late at night,
As the street lights form my shadow,
Hours before the morning light?

My briefcase, though it’s leather
Is empty. And it’s old.
Once, long months and years ago
It may have carried gold,

But I’ve thrown it all away
As I’ve gambled ‘way my soul,
You are stalking just a shadow man;
I cannot make you whole.

I can tell you stories,
Some are lies and some are true
I’ve no intent of malice,
It’s just a thing that poets do.

Turn an ordinary circumstance
Into song for all to read,
Sometimes the song cuts close to home
Causes heart to ache or bleed.

When a poem causes reader tears
The poet also cries,
For the pain that wounds the reader’s heart
Is real in poet’s eyes.
Phil Lindsey  5/28/15
Cloudy tonight
With chance of fear 70%  
Tomorrow tears likely , 90% chance
with thunderpoems possible
by evening , some severe
Emotional downpours may occur
Those living with low lying esteem
Should seek higher ground
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