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 Jun 2015 Amelia Owen
Shanijua
The clock strikes 3:30 and the pit behind the school opens.
We feast on the smell of burning skin and sunscreen.
There is chaos as instruments are strewn across the back room,
No exits and the doors are blocked.
My eyes slide past his but I'm too burned out to care.
Freshmen are the worst,
Insisting on acting as if
They are four year olds.
Not a second late, for Whit is never late.
I have lost feeling in my legs
Still I have perfect
Technique just as he does. Water.
Water does not have an existence in this world.
Heat and sun have taken over.
Our tuba players have given up,
There they lay down in the burning
Grass. He never complains.
As I'm close to my breaking point,
Air no longer passes my
Lips and not one note escapes my keys.
The perfect string of notes and rhythm
Sound from my left. He never missed
A note.
March it back,
March it back,
March it back sixteen counts.
An endless routine.
Opening set.
These single words are bitter sweet.
In ten minutes I am free to go home
And write poetry about him.
 May 2015 Amelia Owen
Tina ford
She wore yellow shoes on her wedding day,
They reminded her of the sun,
She wore a blackened garter,
To remind her of what he'd done,

She wore a deep green eye pencil,
To remind her of meadows true,
Red upon her cheeks so pale,
Enlightened her eyes cold blue,

She wore a clinging silken gown,
Caressing her curvy form,
The brightest white, as white as snow,
That glistened in the dawn,

Around her neck a silver chain,
As silver as her hair,
She sat alone, elegantly,
In her old dusty armchair,

Fifty years had passed away,
Like the flight of an albatross,
Her shoulders weighted heavily,
As she carried her burdened cross,

For on that day, her wedding day,
She waited and waited more,
He never showed, and left her there,
He'd left her alone once more,

She stared into the looking glass,
As her life had passed her by,
But every May, she wore the dress,
And a tear fell from her eye,

She wore yellow shoes on her wedding day,
They reminded her of the sun,
And now the blackened garter,
Lay on the floor undone.
 May 2015 Amelia Owen
AM
New Book
 May 2015 Amelia Owen
AM
There was a time when words
Inside my head poured for you
They’re creating your form
Like beautiful constellations
But you said that you have dyslexia
And refuse to read them through and through
The next thing I know
I stopped writing for you
Now I am ripping those pages
Just like you tore your promises
I am now writing a new book
With his heart as the cover look
 May 2015 Amelia Owen
GaryFairy
the first time our eyes met
possibilities filled my heart
you smiled at me softly
i could feel that spark

the first time our hearts met
you made my still blood flow
we stayed up late, just talking
about things we didn't know

the first time our skin met
the warmth then filled my veins
we started a fire together
making love in the rain

.
.
.

the first time our egos met
the collision took it's toll
we got lost in the explosion
where did our pieces go?

.
.
.

the last time our eyes met
you were driving away
you looked toward me blankly
with nothing left to say
 Apr 2015 Amelia Owen
Jane
Untitled
 Apr 2015 Amelia Owen
Jane
High off his love,
drunk from his hate.
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