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 May 2018 bekka walker
tabitha
i have always found myself
in the middle
actually born
in the middle of the day,
                                       month,
                                       year,
                                       decade
                                      (6.12.94)
very well-versed in
what it's like to be
simultaneously rich
and incredibly poor
living in other states
sleeping on the floor
sure

i walk a generational fine line
this gemini primetime,
of insoluble crises
the holy oil floats to the top
we learn
that feigned warmth cannot dissolve
the calcified ego of a leader or their god
you proclaim the name of jesus
but still cry out for someone to lead us
from gray
          gay
          awareness
          today

it's taken time and distance for this to be easy to say.

this is for the ones
who have always found
themselves in the middle,

america, honey, will you meet us there?
 May 2018 bekka walker
tabitha
this place
is a busy place
there are people everywhere, and lexuses and rolls royces jam
the interstates, with their intermittent honking and inconsistent blinker use.
the quiet you find here, is in the hills, on the shore of ice cold waters at sunset.
on the streets everyone looks
from their lined eyes,
curtained
behind glossy hair.
stunning, ornamental flesh bags trouncing down the boulevard.
they have similar design. long legs. rabid for fame.
pillow-y lips foaming at the corners.
i feel
regularly devoured / rarely enjoyed.
forgive my generalizations
 May 2018 bekka walker
tabitha
You
are the airplane, 
Traveling faster than the wreckage of noise
you leave behind,

You
Low-flying roar

Shaking the cores
of youths on rooftops
emptying beer bottles
into their bellies
Confusing birds,
******* on your territory,
an audio stream of noise pollution,
Claiming the sky as your own

You
The shining relic of the millennium,
An aerodynamic wonderamongst Midwest wheat,
The technological feat
of bored men with a hungry need to
prove themselves (W)right

The birds will not thank you
Neither will the families with
ticky tacky shelters plopped beside the tarmac
“Worse than living by the highway,” they say,
“I would live by the sea, if I could have it my way”
(a different kind of jet blue white noise)

The people you carry,
we are the only thankful souls
Being checked, scanned, and crammed
into tight places is
a preliminary condition I have lived with

You’re breaking the sky,
but you’re taking me places I could never be
otherwise
She’s more fun when she is drunk
At least…until she’s not
Because she’s puking in the toilet
And regretting her last shot

She’s more confident when she’s drunk
Gorgeous and ready to score
Until she looks in a mirror
And feels even uglier than before

She likes herself more when she is drunk
Until that feeling goes away
When she is so far beyond gone
That her self-hatred comes out to play

She’s happier when she’s drunk
All her issues leave her brain
But they all come crashing back at once
And cause her so much pain

She likes the world more when drunk
It’s filled with so much good
Until one little thing sets her off
And she hates it all more than she should

She likes life more when she’s drunk
Her mind for once feels still
Terrified of losing that feeling
She soon wants to end things with a pill

But she can stop any time she wants
Or so she’d have you believe
Because alcohol makes her seem so happy
That is, until all her friends leave
Edit: (3/10/17) Oh my goodness! I haven't logged on in a couple of days and boy did I miss a lot!
I am doing my best to respond to all your messages and comments now! Sorry for the wait!
Thank you all so much for such an overwhelming amount of love and support <3 You guys are amazing
For those of you who struggle with addiction of any kind, hang in there, and I hope you all find the help and support you need <3
Best wishes to you all. And thank you again <3

Edit: (3/11/17)
Alrighty, so I just got a very long message that without going too into details accused me of poking fun at alcoholism with this poem. I would just like to be very clear that this poem was in no way inteaded to make fun of the illness that is alcoholism, and if it came off that way to anyone else, I am truely truely sorry. Words can not express that enough for I very much wished the opposite intent. Alcoholism (and addiction in general) is a very serious illness that I take very seriously. I sinceraly hope that anyone who is struggling with it gets the help they need and those of you who are in recovery, I am proud of you. Stay strong and continue to work towards it <3
Once again, my sincere apologies again to anyone who was offended.
Love to you all <3 - Willow-Anne
 Mar 2017 bekka walker
Jayanta
We relate everything to colour!
Red directed us to Sun
Blue directed us to water
Yellow directed us to Soil
Green directed us to Vegetation
and white directed us to Sky !
*
These are basic to our life.
Red bid with energy!
Blue hold with trust and commitment!
Yellow rapt with happiness!
Green engrossed with freshness and fertility!
and White immersed with purity and divinity!
*
Anyone who born is associated with
one of  these colour!
We preferred for marriage of Yellow and green
and everything resemble to white when die!
Based on the interpretation of Mr Tashi Dorzi Thougan of Rupa, Arunachal Pradesh- India, who interpreted about colour in the life of Sherdukpen community of Arunachal Pradesh)
 Mar 2017 bekka walker
Jayanta
Shadows are black
Darkness encompass around;
Shadows stand opposite to bright
Where opaqueness block the light!
Darkness of self
Encompasses with transgression;
Craft the shadow
Snag with off beam;  
Brighter exertion fade-out!
Obscurity of shadow
Remain in recollections!
 Mar 2017 bekka walker
Jayanta
Try to sail my boat on the river
With a ……
dream to reach the Ocean
thawed in the immensity
and wane the self in verve of azure!
*
But when started to sail
Water ways displaced by sand-casting,
Stuck-up and waiting
Waiting to wane in verve of timelessness sapphire!
Sail, dream, azure, sapphire water way
 Nov 2016 bekka walker
Lauren R
Hey, Mr. Rager! Mr. Rager!
Tell me where you're going!
Tell us where you're headed!

This is an ode to all the lungs you've burnt, all the times you knew how hurt I was and am and how my heart bruises the inside of my chest, beating the **** out of me, trying to burst from my body, frantic, afraid. Oh- credit card fingers, syringe tongue, bloodiest of Sunday's, show me how to roll it, show me how to make origami of my bones.

I'm off on a adventure.*

To the fickle space between the folds of your brain, to the indecision, to the gentle curve of your shoulders that I trace with my palm, to the gaps in your happiness.

Mr. Rager!
Tell me some of your stories
Tell us of your travels
Hey, Mr. Rager! Mr. Rager!
Tell me where you're going!
Tell us where you're headed!


To the untouched spots on your cheeks, to all the noises that frighten you, to all the things that go bump in the night, to starving, to all the stucco paint, to acid flashbacks, to paranoia, to my knuckles, ****** from beating myself up.

I'm on my way to Heaven.

To the rolling back of your eyes, to ******* nosebleeds, to drunk driving, to the ***** all across your chest, to your mother's mother, to the way your eyes soften when you look at me.

Mr. Rager!
Can we tag along? Can we take a journey?


You're asleep in my arms, my hand in your hair. The world is turning a little slower.  

*When will the fantasy end? When will the heaven begin?
I miss Kid Cudi
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