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 Apr 2013 Cam E
Jane Kelsey
Your image in my eye

dries and dies;

what could live in this desert place of mine?

One day you’ll have the death of me

splattered all over your stark-white shirt

the most soft and tender breath

could be lost on your face.



-She’s sitting between crumbled sheets,

bones squeaking like a cat;

the illusion of happiness-



I could never stitch you back

head and heart and limbs together

properly joined-

it would take more than my life

to make you whole again.
 Apr 2013 Cam E
Rosaline Moray
Once upon a concrete fairytale
There lived, and loved, a girl
With eyes of cuts of sky
And lips of roses red.

She aimed to be kind,
And she aspired to be perfect,
And though it's what you saw
She often fell short,
Like a shot of whiskey;
This lovely, golden girl.

If she so wished,
The stars would have been her hairnet,
The midnight ink her silent gown,
And suitors the slippers that caressed her feet,
The ones she walked all over.

She was described as
Spring; as laughter in liquid form
To be drank in slowly; as ice
On the spine - so revitalizing;
Like your future,
Like everything you wanted.

But she didn't want
Any part of herself.
She found her words too sweet,
Her beliefs too strong,
She found her own life and song too stifling.

And her Prince was a long time coming.

And you watched her wither,
Eat poison apples, and wake herself up,
You watched her become still, and quiet,
With the lonely that froze her
Out of her own heart.

And so you, her jailer, with your watchful stare,
Took pity, and, releasing her,
From her self made chains,
You told her to cut her hair, to dress different,
To do anything to reanimate her mind.
You gave her the key.

And she used it.
Then she threw it out the tower,
So it could never again enslave her,
And then she jumped after it.
Chasing sweet, unparalleled freedom.

And she lived happily ever after
In the hearts and minds of men.

No puppet strings attached.
As with all my poems, plagiarism is against the law. Please just show your thoughts by leaving them below, now that, is much appreciated. Thanks for reading!
 Apr 2013 Cam E
Lauren Burgess
I am clean.
I have walked home in the rain.
I've never done so before.
Hood down, chin up, pants sopping.
I've never seen what I looked like, dripping rain water and mascara, with a look of peace in my stormy eyes.

I am new
because I have walked home in the rain.
With every boom of crashing thunder, I was re-baptized in the purest of conditions.
I, myself, have been denied such a cleaning for so long.

But now that I have walked home in the rain,  my mind is fresh. I am acutely aware of all senses and emotion, like someone has cleared my mind's plate of old and set a new table of knowing before it.
When the drops hit my skin, and I felt my pores pucker, I was tingling in my very bones, and I no longer felt the need to crawl out of my own casing.

Now that I have walked through the emerald grass, wet with purity, over the hills of the silent past, and in the pouring rain of new, I praise my content stay.

I walked home in the rain, and I am whole.
I walked home in the rain and found the sun.
 Apr 2013 Cam E
Patricia Drake
breaks
extraordinaire
make tingles linger
through work
until later...
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