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 Mar 2015 Anna Richards
Summer
human
 Mar 2015 Anna Richards
Summer
i always like to think about sailboats
red, blue, green
triangles on the horizon
my favorite shape

and i don't know who i am anymore
when i look at you...
then i trace the maps on your hands
and i remember

autumn days
brisk and just warm enough
kicking through leaves
thinking of you....

how we're all just human in the end,
how quickly life can change,
and how sometimes
*love does win
To you.
Wherever you are,
whenever you read this,
know that it's just for you.
...
You're sad,
you're angry,
and hurt.
Confused and frustrated
doesn't even begin to explain
the inner pain.
But I know.
I do.
I've been where you are,
I've felt that hurt,
I've cried those tears,
I've screamed those words.
I've torn myself apart,
down to little shreds,
drowning and dreading,
ready to give up.
Don't.
Because, here's the thing.
I know it's familiar,
I know you're used to it.
I know you think you're at the end.
But you're not.
Take a deep breath with me,
and feel the truth of my words.
You. Are. Loved.
You are Not alone in this.
I swear,
and I wish I could stress it more,
if no one else is there,
know that I am.
I am here.
Telling you how beautiful and deserving of life you are.
Because it's true.
You're so much braver than you know.
You have so much to offer this world.
There absolutely is a purpose for you.
That purpose is not and never will be,
for you to end your own life.
I know that because I am here today.
These words I'm telling you,
they aren't just pulled out of the air.
I'm telling you this,
because I can,
because someone cared.
I'm telling you this,
on purpose,
so that you remember,
and trust,
that you are loved and not alone.
...
Please, Please don't forget that.
Not really written with a rhymey-poetry style, but still heartfelt nonetheless. Please talk to someone, I did.
 Mar 2015 Anna Richards
Lauren
The day is Monday, March 16th, 2015.
We are in the Idaho State Correctional Institution.
Today, the Idaho Commissioners of Pardons and Parole will decide if my ****** will be released on parole in September.

Many people come in, exchanging their I.D for their visitors' pass.
We all wait in a small L-shaped room, tense, waiting.
His family comes in, and the guard escorts them to another room.
Finally, a parole officer enters. She leads us through a metal detector.
We have to wait in the visiting room, while my ****** is brought into the hearing room.
His family goes in first, then us, along with my supporters.
The deputy calls us to order and explains what will happen.
He says his family may speak, if they have a statement.

She stands up.
"Your relation?"
"Mother."
"Go ahead."

He has managed to get his GED.
He has had his own struggles with other inmates.
He is a "good Christian boy."
He has served his time for his "non-violent crime."
I cry.

The deputy looks doubtful.
He tells the commissioners to begin.

Commissioner Bowstaff is first.
She asks him the nature of his crime, his five DORS, his lost job while inside.
She asks if he is aware of the recommendation they received.
He says yes.
She phrases her next thought carefully:
"Are you aware the interviewer described you as aloof, uncaring, and says you describe yourself as the victim?"
He seems befuddled.

Next is Commissioner Matthew.
He is a sharp looking man, and asks if he feels like his crime is "violent."
He responds.
"No."
"And yet you call yourself Christian?"
"I am Christian."
"God should be ashamed then."
His parents are shaking their heads.

Commissioner Moore.
"You minimize everything. You aren't taking responsibilities for your actions. If you can't follow the rules in here, how do we know you'll follow them out there?"
"I don't know."

Commissioner Bowstaff asks if, as the victim, I have anything to say.
I tell her yes, and she asks me to stand and state my name.
"Lauren Busdon."
"You have a minute to speak."

I tell them I am terrified to see him.
I will start my senior year in August.
His release will continue to effect my school career.
I have only just managed to speak the word "****" in the last two months.
There are other girls, so many others, who are afraid to say anything.
But they say it to me.

They dismiss us to make their decision.
I sob as we walk out of the room.

Everyone is proud of me, saying no matter what, I did my best. I was there, that's what matters now.
But what if it wasn't enough?

The deputy comes in to shake my hand.
"The commissioners have come to an agreement. Parole will be denied for 18 months, and we will meet again in September of 2016."
I laugh and my dad slams his fist on the table. My mom dissolves into tears.
"You are welcome to hear the announcement."
I say, "hell yeah I want to hear it!"

He hangs his head when they tell him.
His mother makes a strangled noise of upset.

We leave.
People are hugging me.
I am crying.
I don't know if I should be proud, or if I should just revel in the sheer joy of not having to see him for 18 months.
18 more months of freedom.
18 more months of trying to live.
This is what happened at my ******'s parole hearing. I had to write it out, so I won't forget.
 Mar 2015 Anna Richards
jessie
Being with you was the sweetest summer
not a cloud in the sky obstructing the lovely warmth shining down on us
it seems we must have been meant for each other
for I've never experienced such a brilliant summer as the one i spent with you

so where did the storms come from?
they held off for so long, let us get so used to the sunshine
before sweeping over and banishing the warmth and light

it is winter now
the darkness has passed and the sun still shines
but its all cold now

soon will be spring
the world will thaw and hopefully
so will we
And I had to walk away
I was just hoping at least he noticed I didn't run
the title is a thought for after the poem
Back Down, I say.
My own voice struggles for strength and footing
against the tide of lies.
Stop It Now, I say.
I know the truth, I know I shouldn't,
feeding the voices isn't wise.
But it's so easy,
to get lost in the words,
like an addiction,
I hate the need,
I hate the urge,
I hate the truth,
I love the hate.
But then, sometimes, out of nowhere, I arise.
Lifting off the icy stone floor of which I often fall,
I feel myself begin to crawl, I ****** up and rise again,
standing tall I breathe in the light, no longer feeling quite so small,
I find a door that leads me down an endless hall,
Unknown urgency flares within and I start to run,
to where it all began,
I retrace the steps that must have brought me here.
Until suddenly I'm back to a younger me,
watching from above
I see how I was,
Happy, kind, loving, innocent, careless, carefree,
I was alive.
I stay and watch as years go by,
slowly at first I see a change,
quicker the images pass,
now I'm able to see,
the invisible chains that snuck up and captured me.
I re-watch my struggles,
I rehear my pleas.
Countless times I'd cried out for me not to be me.
Fear and pain became a cage
prison bars,
holding,
enclosing,
smaller and smaller,
squeezing tighter and tighter,
isolating from the happy world outside.
But..
Wait.
What's this?
A mirror?
An escape?
Taking the slender ornate handle,
the fragile oval of glass,
incapable of untruth,
I cautiously peer into me.
Expecting nothingness,
a single tear gathers,
as it falls it triggers an onslaught of followers.
A shocked laughed bursts forth like a gasp,
they quicken until I'm laughing like I've not in years
fueling joyful tears,
they wet my aching smiling cheeks.
It wasn't nothing,
that I saw in my own eyes.
...
It was love.
It was, always has been,
always will be,
love.

— The End —