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 May 2014 Avery Greensmith
bucky
your eyes are not oceans
and you are not a natural disaster
you are manmade and you will topple
and i will be the one to topple you
because you are a literal bag of human ****
and if you think that telling me
that i deserve ****
will impress your fellow man friends,
you had better watch the **** out
because i am coming for you with a taser
and a buzzsaw
your mra t-shirts can't help you now,
****
love, a very angry feminist.
 May 2014 Avery Greensmith
Quiet
if i make a typo,
please forgive me,
because my fingers are slipping as my keyboard
drowns.
but i needed to write this, to someone who will
never see it.

dear you,
i miss you. i miss the way your eyes were the greatest color i had felt in a long time, and then became a legacy nobody could live up to. i miss the way you tripped on air. i miss the way you laughed when i tripped on my words, because i never trusted my mouth to work properly. i miss the way you would become this energetic child when you talked about the possibilities that lay in the stars. as if talking about stars literally pulled them from the sky and put them in your eyes. and maybe you never put them back. i miss the way you believed in me, one hand firmly on my mind and the other cradling my fragile heart. i miss the way there was this sort of love between us (completely platonic and professional) and i miss the way you asked me if i was okay, and when i lied, you pulled the truth out of me. i miss you, simply and fully.
how come you had to go?

r.c.
Art is dead. Poor Art.
Poor Art's kids and wife.
Art, you will be missed.
Haha i tricked you, didn't i? You thought this was gonna be one of those poems but nope. Don't worry guys, I'll write something serious after finals are done.
I love her paintings.
I lie on the floor bleeding,
smiling as she paints.
 May 2014 Avery Greensmith
Kas
The pages on the desk
White, blank and mocking.
The sun in the window
Shines down upon them
Seemingly encouraging
It means well, but my migraine returns

The pen my hand has touched and put back down
Lies beside the pages
My imagination running wild
It all goes with each attempt

I reach for the pen and try once more
All ideas float down into the recesses of my mind,
of which I never had the courage
To venture into.
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