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 Nov 2017 samantha
Alyssa Torres
I like girls.
Theyre soft and flush, with eyes bright like diamonds.
Theyre sweet and kind, with lips the color of roses.
I like girls.
but the girls, don't like me.
Because i'm a girl too.
love is love
I look at you and I don't see flaws
I don't see someone who is "sad"
I don't see anything wrong with you
I see you
I mean I honestly see you
The way you laugh nervously when I'm staring at you
Or the way you way your smile catches my breath
Or the way your eyes reflect the most beautiful soul
Can you see that?
Can you see how much you mean to me?
 Nov 2017 samantha
James Jarrett
She swept down from the heavens
To find me
Then eyed me
Lashes long and eyes longing
She kissed like a Goddess
If Goddesses have
Long purple tongues
And swept me off of my feet
I almost fell for her then
But I could tell
It wasn't her
First time
And she had
Other men
Don't kiss a Giraffe if you don't want to be kissed back
 Nov 2017 samantha
Kaye I
unheard.
 Nov 2017 samantha
Kaye I
she's a song
you'll never hear
because you never listened.
 Oct 2017 samantha
Robert Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping—rapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
        Only this and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
        Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
    This it is and nothing more.”

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping—tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door:—
      Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering,
  fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore!”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”
      Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon I heard again a tapping, somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore;—
    ’Tis the wind and nothing more.”

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he: not an instant stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
    Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no
  craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
      Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
      With such name as “Nevermore.”

But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered, “Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.”
      Then the bird said, “Nevermore.”

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope the melancholy burden bore
    Of ‘Never—nevermore.’”

But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and
  door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
    Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my *****’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
      She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath
  sent thee
Respite—respite aad nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!”
      Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
    Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
      Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked,
  upstarting—
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
    Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
    Shall be lifted—nevermore!
 Oct 2017 samantha
Elle H
Apology
 Oct 2017 samantha
Elle H
I am sorry.
Sorry that I thought of you every second.
Sorry that I smiled every time I thought of you.
Sorry that I called every night to ask if you were okay.
Sorry that I texted you endless paragraphs about how much I adored you.
Sorry that I ever loved you.
I am so so sorry that I thought you loved me like I loved you.
We were everything till it became nothing.
 Oct 2017 samantha
Hannah
When I was a child,
I made choices
that changed
my life forever.
These choices,
I realize upon reflection,
were devious in nature.
Very few
have come to understand
my reasonings
for such promiscuous acts.
When these acts came to light,
I was in my senior year
of high school.
Make no mistake,
these normally happy times,
were the worst days of my life.
Day in,
day out.
I endured silent stares,
snickers,
torment to extremes
no child should bare.
I hit rock bottom
before the age of 18.
I felt I could no longer
show up to school,
eat,
or,
love myself ever again.
Silently,
I turned inside myself.
I became so distant,
so numb.
Just when I thought I was finished,
and could no longer go on,
something peculiar
began to stir in the
depths of my soul.
I tapped into a well
of endless love.

I began to realize my path
in life would never be easy,
but,
I knew it would all
be worth it one day.
My choices at this fragile age
humbled me in ways
my peers would never understand.
I started showing up to school
with my head held high.
I had already endured
the worst of my pain.
And from that pain,
I pulled power.
By human nature,
we are attracted to
what we do not understand.
Not even I understood who I was
during this period of my life.
I thought I was hated,
despised,
by anyone and everyone.
But,
I soon discovered that I was wrong.
I was not hated
for what I had done.
It seemed it was
quite the opposite.
By nature,
I am accepting to anyone
who crosses my path.
This seemingly simple
fact completely contradicts
the decisions of my past.
I make people think.
How could she have done
something so out of character?
To this very day,
I have never been asked
directly about my past.
I find it quite fascinating.
After 3 long years,
No one has had the courage to ask,
"Why"?
So,
I have never given an answer.
I am waiting for the day
someone finally breaks the ice.
When they do,
I will simply ask,
*"Why do you think I did it"?

— The End —