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I see you in class
Yeah you
With the brown hair
It was the 3rd grade
And I was speechless

In class I would dream
That I would share my PB and J with you.
You passed me a note in math class
Asking me if you could meet me at the flag pole
You wanted to give me a surprise.

A surprise?
A surprise!
What could it possibly be?
A kiss?
A PB and J?

I had to find out,
So after math class
I skipped across the halls
My eyes were glued to the flag pole

Where is she?
My breaths were taken away from the thought of you.
Tall 5th graders' shadows started to walk towards me
They have the eyes that told me to run.
I dropped my lunch box and ran
Into a 5th grader.
More started to come out of the evening shadows
These boys were out for blood tonight.
They started to push me around
Like the words that were being thrown around
Punches and dirt thrown in my face
Reminded me that I fell for a girl
I didn't even know
I wish I could have told you how I really felt.

These boys held me down,
Stripped everything that kept me sane
And crucified me on the flag pole.
The place I thought would change my 8 year old life.

Is this what Jesus felt like?
The feeling that I'm going to heaven
Were my corps would decay on the flagpole
This flagpole

After what felt like forever
These boys left me to the hounds called the night time
I want to barge out of my shackles
And scream "why, god!"
I start to cry away,
Away from here.

It's 2am
I'm staring in my bedroom mirror
I pray to the mirror
Mirror, mirror on the wall
Why have you made me mute after all?
The mirror just sits there in horror
Reflecting the mess I have become.

I start to look at my face
I see my red demonic eyes
Caused by the concoction of tears and dirt being kicked
I feel the cuts that burn from the lies
I told myself

I look at my frail hands
And see my ****** nails from fighting back.
I noticed my wrists were ****** from the crucifixion
I wonder to myself why didn't they **** me?
Just finish me off and let my prayers be answered.

Then I look at my chest
I see cuts and bruises
Scattering around me like the feeling of loneliness

I press ******* my cuts
I want to feel something
My soul was extracted
By boys who lost it
From a closed fist from a angry father.

I look at the mirror and realized
I am ashamed of who I am.
All we could ever hope to have been is uncoiled before us like a python caught in the mid day sun,
laid bare, a naked shame for all to see,
yet in all of this we bask in the warmth of our discovery,
sanctified in our own existence,
parity of the soul and all deeds are done.


© H V Swan
When the rain falls we see it’s beauty, we feel its warmth,
the sound it makes soothes our soul and we sink in to its sanctuary,
yet in transition when the storm strikes,  its mantel becomes dark and forbidding, its spirit reaps destruction and ice like shards cut us to the bone.
Rain will fall, but in the scape of our night sky do we dare to call on its name ?.
Would that these sounds inside my head stop, for the briefest of moments,
for if it was so that I could just hear your voice one more time,
I would listen like a child in incumbent solitude,  
as if to a mothers soothing voice,  
reading never ending stories,
and if time would hold back these autumn tears,
I would breath again, feeling the cold, crisp air enter my lungs as a soothing balm,
healing my wounds and making me whole.

© H V Swan
Oh fly, fly, where have you been ?
a freshly laid dog **** or some moldy old cream ?,
buzzing this way and spluttering that,
spiraling angrily on to the cat,
bang into the wall then on to the floor,
like a mad game of pinball with a very high score.
Where next, my fluffy black friend,
a  slam of a book and I'm afraid its the end !

© H V Swan
My attempt at a more light hearted poem, with some tongue in cheek humor added into the mix.
A house full of spectres,
a mouth full of rye,
left out in the darkness,
someone will cry.

death was a reason,
tears were for show,
once out of the bottle,
these spectres wont go.
© H V Swan
The sea calls out her name,
soft whispers hidden in the sound of the waves that gently break against the shore,
holding out my hand I touch the empty air,
it reaches back yet I feel nothing but the cold,
salt filled mist that swirls through my soul.


© H V Swan
sometimes I still feel her with me
 Sep 2014 Anastasia Webb
bb
Put your mouth into mine and hold me like a tomb does. We've shared our bodies and our badness to the point of decay, we might as well keep washing our hands with each other's filth.
On the one night I slept for more than four hours, I dreamt that you had derailed a train with your your bare hand
it crashed into my front door and ran into my bedroom to see me, it pulled me atop it and the train was you
now i need you to cut up your passport and give it to the wind, I need you to set your past on fire and return to the ground with me, to consume with the only fire that will out mine out.
The fine line between you holding me and you holding me hostage is  wearing so thin that I can hardly see it, wearing, like the clothes I had on, the clothes I tore off in hopes of finding you somewhere beneath them, like a stupid girl does, like a stupid girl does, like a stupid girl does
I remember when you told me that I'd never see the good side of you,
right after you told me how easy it is for me to see the truth. And those words tasted nice , they tasted like power
You put dominance into the hands of submissive like an orphaned child into the hands of a widow, and you watched her run with it
I make a bet with myself that I can abandon you for more than a little while
I made a bet last September that I would hate you this September, but you keep slipping
into the arousal of the hatred you provoke in me and I keep saying your name into a hole in the ground like a song into a microphone. So listen. So listen. So listen.
A language is just the way the tongue falls in love with the body
I miss the days when I ached for you to put yours to mine.
 Sep 2014 Anastasia Webb
bb
Untitled
 Sep 2014 Anastasia Webb
bb
So today you'll be in love this girl from the internet and tomorrow you be in love with that girl from the internet and today your mother will ask you to look up from your phone for two seconds and tomorrow you will be ******* over a girl that you can't that you can't look in the eye because her eyes are miles and away and they're always watching you with disinterest, until you lose interest; some Catholic girl told me that long distance relationships make it easy to fall I to son and I got to understanding why God stays so far away. I know how to ruin myself with one hand, I know how to tear you apart with two. I know how stop taking care of myself until I'm overgrown with weeds just to watch you grow; some idiot said you don't forget how to ride a bike so I got lazy and stopped using one and some idiot said you don't forget your first love and I did the same thing. I saw the train coming and I laid you down on the tracks like I cared, and I did but I just don't know how and that's how the deal, no one knows how to do anything, hardly anyone knows how to derail trains.
And today I'll fail my test becase I didn't study, tomorrow I'll remember that a year ago you said my name for the first time; today I'll sit on my hands until they tingle just to make sure that I'm alive; we'll delve into the meanings of 'love' and 'lust', but in the end they'll both still feel the same, I'll wonder if you track dirt into your house with your boots or if you just track hurt, you'll always keep me right where you can see you but never where I can hold you. We'll speak well about each other and keep our dark secrets tucked into the waistbands of our skirts like crisp white shirts. I can't understand why anyone would want to live in the first world, where all we do is keep things we love in dusty boxes and sit in traffic and hurt the people we love and write about it.
And then we'll leave the internet and grow up and be gray and our tweets will die out like people do and then we won't think about it much. We won't think about it much.
 Sep 2014 Anastasia Webb
nivek
that DedPoet must be sitting in the Sun
kicking his heels in the dust
drinking a cold beer
and scribbling his best
I hope this is Earthbound
and not a premonition
the dust in his throat quenched
and no flag blue or red in the back pocket
of a young Gangsta
has took away this poet with a bullet
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