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 May 2013 AM
sw
J. Gatsby
 May 2013 AM
sw
Gatsby was in love;
completely infatuated
with another being

The way he looked at her
with his anxious eyes
exhibited a love that couldn't be greater
And
the words he spoke
emitted such fondness
for her rosy lips against his
as he whispered sweet stories
that he irresistibly imagined
of their future together

he fell so in love--
he fell so tragically and desperately
in l o v e--
he lost himself completely
and became absent
in his own consciousness
trusting false hopes,
refusing to let go of what would
never be his
and if this insanity is what they call
true love--
if this is what one experiences
when such passion takes over--
then I, too
have gone Gatsby for you.
 May 2013 AM
Jada Tower
who am i?
 May 2013 AM
Jada Tower
who am i?

i'm tired eyes and bed hair.
i'm coffee stains on the pages of my favorite books.
i'm dry humor in the morning when all i want to do is sleep.
i'm my favorite song lyrics blaring through the speakers on a long road trip.
i'm a stranger sitting on a park bench watching people live their lives
while all i do is sit and observe.
i'm all the places i've been to and explored on sunday mornings
leaving little bits  of me when i go.
i'm the tide splashing at my feet while i make pictures in the sand.
i'm a quote from my favorite movie that i've seen too many times to count.
i'm shorts and a tank top on a warm summer day
then boots and a coat on a cold winter night.
i'm a fishing pole in its stand on the bank of a murky lake.
i'm late nights out with friends
when i should really be at home in bed.
i'm the thrill of sneaking into somewhere you shouldn't be
and the terror of getting caught.
i'm goodnight kisses
and early morning hugs.

so who am i?
i am these fragments
pulled together, making me tick.
I want to inhale you
like the sweet smell of rain
as it drizzles down upon my window pane.
I want to crave you
like a smoker craves a cigarette
he cannot afford.
I want to search for you
like a child searches for Santa
on a late Christmas eve.
I want to take your placidity
like a gentle wave breaking on the sandy shore line.
I want to consume you
like a thousand beautiful butterflies in your stomach.
I want to leave you speechless
with nothing left to say.
I want to take your breath
like the moon takes the day.

*(a.n.p.)
 May 2013 AM
Angel Moore
I found my way back
back, to that place I go to
When I cry
When I sleep
When I die
High in the atmosphere
into worlds.
I have my own hide away
no one can find me.
I've watched the universe
spin slowly.
Change from dark to light,
night to day,
night to day.
I've seen caves and creatures
roam the planet.
Lush green trees
ripped from their homes.
Giant animals
fall to the ground.
I've called upon the archangels for protection
from the darkness that has covered the earth.
I've fallen out of my hiding place
and landed in the darkest of nights.
Sun that seems too bright.
Nights that seem too long.
Haunted by words that will
never
never
ever
fade.
But yet, I've always return
to my spot in the sky,
to watch the evolutions,
revelations, the nightmares
and the miracles.
I've watched our
Mother
Father
God
destroy and rebuild.
Destroy and rebuild.
I've seen the most beautiful things.
Even the city lights
look like fireflies illuminating the planet
from here.
I've found beauty in everything.
Every word.
Every taste, smell, touch.
Every third eyed sensation.
I am not omnipresent.
Only...
present.
I glow a soft shade of purples and blues.
Indigos.
All shades, with a white crown upon my head
pouring out the purest of white lights.
My head tilts back as I pray for salvation on earth.
Peace among men.
An awakening.
The earth glitters with hope.
I sit and wonder as I mindlessly play
with the token around my neck.
A ring for prayer.
A reminder of greatness.
I gently allow myself to fall,
sink slowly through the atmosphere
like I am drowning during a sunset.
Tragic, yet beautiful.
Again, down, down.
My wings know not to save me.
 May 2013 AM
Esmé van Aerden
It’s days like these that I feel the worst about everything I do.
Cheerful cherry blossoms spiral around my black cloud,
landing apologetically on my slouching shoulders.
The birds seem to quiet as I pass by,
refusing to meet my frigid eyes.
It’s the same routine,
addicted like nicotine.

Days pass by and my spiteful poetry grows,
prisoners screaming behind muffled reminders.
All they yearn for is to be as free as the tide
slowly teasing,
yet one day we will become those crashing waves,
luring other dreamers to awake from the haze.
 May 2013 AM
Esmé van Aerden
out
 May 2013 AM
Esmé van Aerden
out
I knew a girl who would write sadness across her arms,
along her waist,
down her thighs,
and out through her toes
in hopes that one day,
she too would be free.
 May 2013 AM
Pamela Rose
smoke
 May 2013 AM
Pamela Rose
Aggressively self-conscious
His excited fingers stumble along the outline of her body,
Bemused in the smoke.
His mind flies as his nerves sing.
Beautiful, behind the smoke;
She’s used to better.
Losing her patience,
Kissing his warm neck with a mouthful of smoke,
A limp wrist and bored finger.
It stings her eyes;
Smoke, suspended and still in the room,
Becoming part of the air.
His smile, awkward and pale;
Sick with her sense of failure.
Dazed by the smoke
She grabs her skirt, tucks in her blouse;
Watching him watch her through the screen of smoke
From his naked mattress.
Her shape is a ghost behind its shield,
He was touching her only moments ago.
She is gone. The door locks.
Sunrise paints his time lost.
In the room, smoke tells of past events.
She is busy living; he won’t call.
This, between him and the smoke, suspended and still in the room,
Smoke that has become part of the air.
 May 2013 AM
Noelle
Moon
 May 2013 AM
Noelle
i left the side of your
bed the same ever since you
left and never came back
on the spot where
you used to slumber
it smells of you, a hazy
scent of cigarette smoke and
the cheap cologne you bought
last thursday night
I remember that night
like the tattoo on your chest
which i would outline
as we drank wine
and our vision became blurry
and our words became slurred
and the moon smiled at us
while we smiled back
but you didn’t have to leave
unexpectedly leaving me all
alone with your cheap cologne
the red wine
my vision blurry
my words slurred
the cigarette smoke that still
lingered in the air
and a moon that won’t even
smile back at me
 May 2013 AM
Esmé van Aerden
He was the boy who listened to the kooks
and wore scarves for fun
and hummed as he walked
and smiled at the birds
and went home
with prayers for death on his lips.
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