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 Jun 2017 Becca P
Tabby
I heard this story once, that when an artist dies-
They get to paint the sunset, as a way to say goodbye.
They usually go for colors of orange, though i'm not sure why-
For when they do that it seems, like they didn't even try.

Every now and then, they paint a lilac sky-
Pinks and purples dance about, creating a visual lullaby.
I'll want to watch forever, I'll wish that I could fly-
For if I could i'd touch the clouds, and be so satisfied.
 Jun 2017 Becca P
Sam
I'm Sorry
 Jun 2017 Becca P
Sam
I'm sorry mom, but please understand.
The reasons I don't call you back are the same reasons I'm so many miles away.
The same reasons I can't sleep at night, and why my future is so bleak.
I'm sorry we can't be friends or even talk about the weather.
I wish I could  forgive you.
Just move on and be the son you want me to be, but the feelings are far too strong.
You forced me to swallow all these daggers after all.
Daggers with names like "Sorrow","Agony", and "Regret".
I'm sorry mom, but when I let my phone keep ringing, understand it's because you gave me a mountain to climb.
Here I am at the top though, and I'm trying to move on.
 Jun 2017 Becca P
Hope White
Sunday
 Jun 2017 Becca P
Hope White
I didn't even ask
To be your sun
Or your moon.

All I wanted
was to be
Your Sunday afternoons.

How many empty calendars spaces
I wasted,
Waiting for you.

— The End —