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 Apr 2015 Anna
Jordan Frances
Dear you,
I miss you.
The name of a spice that smells so sweetly in the spring
Your name was so fitting.

Dear you,
How are you?
I live in my own pain that smells like a sewage plant
You have nothing do with it
You were always kind.

Dear you,
How dare you be so kind?
How dare you believe me
The person who accused your son of being a child molester?
Although, I never spoke poison
Everything I said was true
Why did you believe me?

Dear you,
I had trouble believing myself.
Knowing this happened
I detached so eloquently from the event
For seven years
I formed an alter ego
In which I could live comfortably

Dear you,
Are you comfortable?
I really do hope I didn't tear your family apart
As I seem to be so privy at
Why, just look at mine.
I played a heavy hand in the way
It's pretty ****** up

Dear you,
You are the only person who didn't treat me like a **** up
When you had every reason to
You never blamed me
You apologized for him
So why am I still holding onto this guilt?
Why am I so ashamed to see you?
Why am I so fearful?
Because, even though you never blamed me
I have always blamed myself.
For Rosemarie
 Apr 2015 Anna
claire
i. Allow yourself to be clichéd. Forgive yourself the comparison to phenomena like stars, tsunamis, volcanoes, and the end of the world.  There is no shame in depicting the galaxies you see in your irises or the seas crashing in your lungs. Don’t for a minute diminish your words because you’re afraid of seeming larger, lovelier, or grander than you really are. Keep writing huge. Keep writing splendorous.

ii. Destroy the anxiety gap between you and your work. Sit down and write whatever’s filling you in that moment. When stupidity comes, embrace it. When unoriginality comes, offers it your deepest welcome. When panic comes, give it a wink and keep dragging your pen across the page. There is no wrong, no right. There is only Something. Do not label the Something in such stark, dull terms as good or bad. If you must label it, label it burning, label it victorious, scarlet, howling, fresh, moving, disastrous, gleaming, but never reduce it to success or non-success. Who are you to determine these things? How can you take what streams out of you and cram it into a superficially constructed box? Would you degrade any other kind of natural release? Would you relegate blood flow or shouting or tears to a simple one-word title? This is your time to glow in full vulnerability, to fall head over heels for every blundering, beautiful thought within you, so build a bridge between you and the paper that will be strong enough to bear your weight. Then cross it.

iii. Know who you are writing for. It should be yourself, not the one who holds your heart or the fire-faced figure in the park at dusk or people who make your soul twist. Write for brave, bruised you; wondering, powerful you. Always you.

iv. Rise above the need to match your creation to a preordained image in your mind. The two will never be the same and this is fine. Accept whatever you produce with tender detachment, then move forward. Remember that every literary icon has felt the same pounding dissatisfaction, and walked about tugging at their hair, frustrated and abashed. Remember they are no closer to divinity than you. Ultimately, we are all just shells through which a greater ocean sings, so let yours wail its melody as it likes.

v. Write without the tight egoic fist; write without a blueprint; write without fear. Write like it is your first day on earth and you are stunned with awe. Write like the caterpillar bursting from its cocoon, transformed, breathless. Write like that.
 Apr 2015 Anna
Jordan Frances
The body breaks
My hands begin to snap at the wrist
My bones splinter, inch by inch
My skin removes itself from its tissue
My eyes can no longer see anything but darkness

The mind manipulates
My brain pretends things are there that are not
My hallucinations have never been so real
My PTSD has never been so confining
My mental illness has never isolated me this much
My thoughts have never been so tricked by fear

The heart hurts
My feelings lead me to become emotional
My conscience leads me to become guilty
My expectations lead me to become broken
My love for another leads me to become sterile

I fade
I die out
I become dust over the ocean
Over the grass
Over my fleeting bones
But You never will.

Now as my loneliness rages
And fire burns away my shell
I will learn to rely on You
You alone
I will soldier on
With You as my commander.
 Apr 2015 Anna
Jordan Frances
This is mania.
This is so much buzzing in my brain I can't break free
This is writing poetry at 2 AM
(Bad poetry)
This is crying hysterically for no reason
This is hallucinating
(Or am I dreaming with my eyes open?)
This is...oh, look at the time...it's 4 AM already?
This is screaming and punching myself in the arm over trivial matters
This is talking to the ex boyfriend
This is sleeping with the ex boyfriend
This is sleeping with anyone who looks at you
This is not thinking about it twice
This is I'm not very productive
This is realizing I haven't slept an ounce
This is I'm even bad at being manic depressive.

This is depression.
This is pumping a gallon of caffeine into my bloodstream just to get out of bed
This is forcing a faux smile on my face day to day
This is wanting to reopen wounds on my wrists that have been healed for two years
This is wearing his agony and his guilt on my shoulders like a heavy book bag
This is everything hurts, can I go home and sleep yet?
(After all, I didn't sleep last night.)
This is no makeup, don't care
This is I'm ugly anyway
This is I don't care about school
This is I am too fearful about the future
This is I am too fearful about everything
This is the anxiety that encases my body
This is the dread that fills my lungs
This is every desire to relapse
This is no productivity
This is why am I so sad today?
(Yet I'm not sad enough for someone to notice.)
This is I'm even bad at being manic *depressive.
 Apr 2015 Anna
Court
I. Boy with the silly laugh
We were best friends.
You were there when my father left and I was there when you had your heart broken.
I knew you didn't love me. But I didn't care.
That was the beautiful part about it.
I still loved you knowing I wouldn't get love in return.
I hope you found what you were looking for.

II. The first boy I ever thought I'd marry
We spent so much time together and yet it never seemed like enough
I remember the first time we slept together.
My curfew was 11 but I still walked through my front door at 8 am the next morning.
My mom was so mad, but that night you tasted like heaven and I knew that's the only time I would ever get a glimpse of heaven.
If there is a God, I know he brought you to me.

III. The boy who ran out of time
I remember the day I met you, you played with my hair.
I remember how you'd always smell like vanilla and coffee.
I remember our first kiss, how your tongue would glide around my lip.
I remember the scratches and the screams to the angels.
I remember the day I last saw you.
I remember a full sanctuary with 100 shades of black.
I hope you're resting. I hope you're in heaven playing baseball like you did as a child.
I hope you know that when I told you to leave I didn't mean for you like this.
 Apr 2015 Anna
Sam Stone Grenier
everyone was laughing
she was laughing
her friend was an accountant
 Apr 2015 Anna
claire
spring
 Apr 2015 Anna
claire
there’s a soft blossoming
at the core of us;
neighbor children have
begun making their chalky universes
on asphalt again
loud laughter rings along these
muted suburban streets
seeds tremble into bloom
the reappearance of sunbeams and bird flocks
and other splendid details
we’d forgotten during the cold
delights us

now is the time to step out
of our old skins
and waste breath on dandelion wishes
now is the time for these
chrysalis hearts to break open
and ascend
unbound at last
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