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Bailey May 2016
For a species that I love so much,
they just can't seem to hate enough.
But I won't quit,
I'm not a quitter--
this withered heart
will never bitter.
I'd rather live with love and pain,
than get the chance to say I'm sane.

I couldn't keep my sanity,
while studying humanity.
At least that's the excuse I make
when episodes are hard to take.

I never had, I think,
the chance--
I swear I'd blink and
sounds would swirl inside my ears.
Paranoia induced tears but
I've been watching people lately,
wondering just what is 'crazy'?

Sometimes I think it's not just me,
they too can't find reality.
But even more they waste their lives,
while I sit back and cherish  mine.
Ignore each other and poke at screens--
do they wonder what life means?
I do.
Constantly.
And maybe that is why I'm me,
and me.
  May 2016 Bailey
Samm Marie
I am a minor miner girl
Searching for the diamond in each piece of coal
But sometimes all that is there is rock
No shining sparkle
But what girls like us minor miner girls
Don't realize is that we too shine
Those pieces of rock
Those lumps of coal
We throw our whole lives into
Trying to find their diamond
When it doesn't exist
At least not for us
We need to learn that we as individuals
Cannot press a lump so hard
And turn it to diamond
We need to see that
Nothing, absolutely nothing
Can hold us back
Except for us
So dear minor miner girls
Please realize your worth
And don't give your life to those lumps
Of what is really just dirt
Bailey May 2016
Once upon a time, I fell in love.
I fell in love with stormy gray eyes and russet brown hair.
I remember in third grade when she got her first pair of glasses.
I remember in sixth grade when she got her first pair of *****.
And the mean kids said they were golf *****.
I fell in love with a loud, obnoxious laugh and brutal honesty.
I remember in seventh grade, we had wood shop, and I spent more time in the corner with her than I did with my "boyfriend".
I remember our inside jokes, her little notes.
I kept every single one of them.
I remember the first time I slapped her back, because she always slapped me, due to her ADHD.
I remember telling her I liked girls, to see if she was alright with it.
I thought she'd never love me like that.
I remember in eighth grade, when she told me she was jealous of my girlfriend.
I remember our first dance, under the light of a green glowing exit sign.
And our first kiss...
I remember at the school dance, my mom made me wear that dress but it looked so nice pressed against hers.
I remember telling her goodbye, lying to her because I made a promise to someone else.
But not long after, we were together again, in her stepfather's car.
I remember he hated me, very much.
I remember she didn't care, as she sneaked me to the side of the house and let me put hickeys all over her neck.
Her pillow smelled like strawberry shampoo.
I remember taking her to lunch, and giving her my grandmother's ring.
I remember carving our names into that tree.
And Lauren's birthday party, where we were closer than ever before...
I remember after that, when the girls came upstairs, her pants were on inside out and our faces were red.
I remember ninth grade, she had always been the only one who had ever fully supported me, in all my years and phases...but I said goodbye again.
Torn away by that same girl I felt obligated to, felt I owed my life to.
I remember her tears.
I remember her poems.
I kept every single one of them.
I remember dating others.
I remember missing her.
Then we came together again, it was the best time of my life.
I remember leaving again---I hate myself for that.
I remember her tears and poems.
I kept every single one of them.
I remember tenth grade, I was with him for so long, but I still missed her.
I remember nearly leaving him, when I wrote her that book...
Our love story.
It is eleventh grade, and I have always loved her.
I will always love her, mourn her, write for her.
But she will never know,
She can never know.
Because I won't be able to live if I ever break her heart again.
College is coming fast, who is to say I could give her what she wanted?
I can't chance it, I won't be selfish.
If keeping her safe is loving her from a distance, then that is what I'll do.
I know I will never love like I loved her, ever again.
What we had can never be recreated.
I will never be fully happy.
She is the one.
But possession is the opposite of love.
I will not interfere with her life again.
Not only that, but the lies I have told my friends and family over the years, about not loving her, still eat at me.
Me and my stupid pride.
I dream about her all the time, talk to her everyday.
I wish I could spend the rest of my life with her, and just be happy.
Feel protected, loved, and supported.
But I don't deserve her.
I will remember her even as I lay dying, with someone else's ring on my finger.
I'll remember those eyes, that hair, her crooked smile, her glasses, that kiss, our dresses, her tears, her laughs, her poems, her singing, that slap, our jokes, those notes, that tree, that night, that exit sign
that exit sign
that exit sign.
Once upon a time I fell in love,
and I never landed
I will never land.
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Bailey May 2016
When I was six years old,
my brother slept on the couch.
And sometimes,
I would sleep beside him.

I would creep into the gray night,
and whisper scratchily toward him:
"Clyyyde!"
"Hmm?"
"...Wanna play Download?"

I had picked up the word from some adult,
and had absolutely no idea
what it meant.

But this is how it worked:
I would lay on the floor beside him,
and as soon as I said
in my deepest six-year-old voice,
"DOWNLOAAD!"
we would pretend to dream.

When we 'woke up',
we would have to tell each other about it in detail.
That way, we could have tons of dreams
in one night.

Mine were always lands made out of food.
Because I was fat.

I don't remember his.
Probably 'cause they were stupid.

I'm so glad I still have the chance to play
at least one last time.
  May 2016 Bailey
Star Gazer
If I admitted what I did last night, most might cringe
as it involves a black object that is about 50 inches,
I won't profess that I had some sort of ***** ***
No, I was on an extreme animated movie binge
And I had snowy mountain equivalent of tissues
Not because I'm riddled with problems and issues
It's because animated movies are tragically beautiful
And though I might not fit into the category of real men,
Because from Superman we learn, real men are steel men
and real men are constituted as muscled men
so by most, I would not be defined as a real man.

Last night I cried with a pair of eyes that grew so red
Not from an outcry that pink eye has finally spread
But from an emotional connection to animation
Because last night, I cried watching The Lion King,
When Simba lost his father, I felt my eyes sting
I cried watching Pixar's inside out
When Bing **** gave his life for his friend
I felt most of all that I had stored inside come out,
It gave me an insight into witnessing depression
And I found myself caught in between the tension,
So last night I felt an emotional connection to animation
And I disposed of many tissues, not out of temptation
From lust filled mind but from animated creations.
So last night, I realised I was more of a real man
Because I expressed how I feel and
That it was ok to cry lake from my eyes
because real men are not steel men
and real men are not required to be muscled men.
  May 2016 Bailey
Green Eyed Blues
Words like radioactive waste
Your mind is flooded
Intentions displaced
Desperation has taken
Root
Tangled up with the strings of your muscle
Causes the dips in your chest
Along with the deep cracks in your skull

Shot an arrow where the earth meets the sky
Dug your hands in the hole
Started to pry
Covered yourself in the dirt and darkness and never stopped for a moment to ask yourself why

Seeking company a constant
Skin starts to eat itself
When left alone
But never get too close
With more slides than a trombone
Just enough to see a body from your corner view
As long as it's not just you and you
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