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 Jun 2014 Amber
Emily Dickinson
1121

Time does go on—
I tell it gay to those who suffer now—
They shall survive—
There is a sun—
They don’t believe it now—
 Apr 2014 Amber
Brooke Davis
You become lost
once you decide
to dine with the ghosts of the past
for all they do
is gorge you in sorrow
and feed you with fury.
 Apr 2014 Amber
MD
Obsessed
 Apr 2014 Amber
MD
When I'm gone
Please don't cry
Because I've shown you my scars
I've reached out for your help
A thousand ******* times
But no one ever takes me seriously
When I say I'm sad
It's not normal
I get obsessed with my sadness
I let it overtake me
You are the only **** person
Who makes me feel sane
And you don't even
Want me around
 Mar 2014 Amber
Savannah Charlish
Today I realized
You will always have a part of me
There will be no forgetting your taste
There will always be one random, lonely night
Spent with longing for you

And today I think I became okay with that
I think that's what moving on is

Realizing everything I feel is okay
Savannah Charlish ©
 Feb 2014 Amber
Emily Dickinson
288

I’m Nobody! Who are you?
Are you—Nobody—Too?
Then there’s a pair of us!
Don’t tell! they’d advertise—you know!

How dreary—to be—Somebody!
How public—like a Frog—
To tell one’s name—the livelong June—
To an admiring Bog!
 Feb 2014 Amber
JJ Hutton
She places her book, marked with
a coupon I've been meaning to use,
on the nightstand. She turns the light
out on her side. It's her side, her light.
The left side is mine.

Night.

Night.

We're past clutching love. We're
not married, but I think I know
what it means. It's two lonely
people; it's two sides of the bed.
It doesn't take her long to fall asleep.
I watch her forehead unwrinkle.
I listen as her inhales and exhales
become spaced and even. At this moment,
I do not know her. She's not a woman.
All the inviting curves collapse. She is
a girl breathing in, breathing out.

In a memory she related to me--I think
she related to me--she asks a boy to give her
a turn on a swing. It's toward the end of recess.
She has waited. He says no. This is my swing.
She says it is the school's. He says the school
isn't sitting in it. I can almost remember why
she told me this story or some story like it.

I can't sleep without my fan on. She can't
fall asleep with it. I'll give her a couple more
minutes. I wonder what violence she dreams
of, of what forbidden ecstasy she views in
her private night. I do not know her. She
looks vulnerable, her body now bent in an S shape,
facing away from me. Am I scared for her? Of her?
Still sleeping, she bunches up her comforter;
she brings it to her face. Maybe that's marriage: being
scared for and of.

I turn on the fan. She stirs.

I'm sorry. I'll turn it off.

You can leave it on.

I'll turn it off.

Leave it.

She pulls my arm under her neck.
She brings her bottom against my thighs.

Will you hold me? Just for a second.

I can hold you longer.

Just a second.
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