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 Jun 2014 Victoria
Esther
I found a crack in the sidewalk
That I didn't have the urge to step on
And I passed this crack every day
On my 4.40pm walk
For what seemed like a lifetime
And I glared daggers
At the thing that made my skin crawl
And my neck ache
And my fingers twitch by my side
Because cracks in sidewalks
Were meant to be tread upon
Every single one of them
Even partially
Not to break a mother's back
But to cover the imperfections
And to fill the void
That made me uneasy
And to fill it
Even for a millisecond
Before I moved on
As if the sole of my shoe
Could somehow heal the
Sadness that the ground must be feeling
But there was a crack in the side walk
That I didn't have the urge to step on
No matter how many times
I passed within stepping distance
And no matter how many times
It caused me pain
And maybe that was the period of my life
When the obsessive compulsive part of me
Decided to take a break
Because maybe
Maybe some part of me
Saw that the grass that grew
In the messy line that pointed east
Was something more beautiful
And more honest
Than any hidden disfigurement
Could ever be
Something I randomly puked out. I don't know. I might regret it later.
 Jun 2014 Victoria
SG Holter
Is
Everything.
 Jun 2014 Victoria
SG Holter
Am I so mean to you?
Is that why you leave the
Bed to go and cry alone
When you think I'm
Sleeping?*

No.

I go to think. Thinking makes me
Cry. One hour is worth five
Hours of deep sleep.
I see clearer through tears.

I go to ask. Ask why we both miss
The same sides of love.
Why we both lay on either end
Of a mile wide king size

And wait for the other's arm
To reach across the proud void.
I go to ask why we both feel
Unfairly treated for the same

Reasons. I slip away from
The sensation of sleeping alone
When I'm not; it's worse than actual
Solitude.

I go to have meetings with myself.
To evaluate. Analyze. Criticize my
Act and improve. Take and give
Blame between myselves.

Who wouldn't cry?
No, little girl. You're not mean to me.
I am. I am a poet. I don't leave your
Side to weep.

It's all poetry to me.
Poetry and tears.  
I go to sit by myself and
Not write.
 May 2014 Victoria
SG Holter
Stars falling like burning hailstones.
Not one wish formed
From the ashes below.

Earth stretches and yawns; scratches
A continent finally
Free from fleas, then

Returns to solitaire sleep while
Epochs enter into aeons
Before the itching

Ever so slowly begins again;
Species rise to reign in the usual
Pre-apocalyptic illusions of

Meaning, denying being merely a
Planetary slap away from a crushed
Stain of the blood it once ******.

I never feel as in place and balanced
As when my insignificance looks me
Dead in the eye. And winks.
 May 2014 Victoria
Sky
All consuming, absolute continuing sadness
It never seems to resolve itself

Go through the motions to get to the next day
And you eat, sleep, go to school, repeat
Until one day you think you've made it

But then you'll look at the photographs on your wall
And you'll smoke a cigarette
Nostalgia will begin to set in your mind
You'll sit beside your two-story foot window and remember just over a year ago how you made a trip out of one; the attempt to commit your ****** life to hell

Oops.
Then you'll get anxiety because you threw away all your razors and you'll panick

You'll lie down and cover your head with all your blankets and you'll forget
you'll forget
to eat, sleep, go to school, repeat

And you won't make it
Because sadness is sickness

The kind that is terminal
 May 2014 Victoria
Poetic T
We know its coming from
the day we are born, the
sleep we never wake from
never to see that new dawn.

We sleep so long, the moments
with eyes closed in readiness
for that faithful day, we waste
are waking moments rushing
to that end that comes to everyone
naturally.

The sleep is coming early for
some short were there days,
before there big sleep comes, it
will happen in many different
ways, but one and all life is
short, shorter for some. We
must live our lives, for when
the big sleep comes have you
done that was meant to be done.
 May 2014 Victoria
Poetic T
48 hours
 May 2014 Victoria
Poetic T
We moan all week, five days
of working no rest and play,
but that 48 hours come and
what do most do sit on there
*** the clock ticks down time
slips away. That morning is
coming again, we wake up
ready for work  where has
the time gone how did are
weekend slip away.

It slipped through your grasp
things that could have been done,
but instead you slept through
the day, come on wake up ya ***.

You waste the day watching soaps,
it sunny out there why you not
outdoors, you need some fun and
exercise to give you some energy,
but you stay in like a hermit then
the morning comes time to get up
where did that 48 hours go then
its back to the 9 to 5 for you and
me all that wasted fun.
 May 2014 Victoria
Poetic T
Are lives are like follow the
dots, like painted by numbers,
are whole life are world is nearly
always selected out. We don't pick
what we want, its connected from
birth, where we live to what are
parents have done, dots connected
from number one.

Our lives are colored in this color
for our never changing life, mapped
out for what we want, but is there
away to make a change. To not
connect the dots to color are live a
different way.

How about instead of dot one to two
we connect randomly make life
different from what other want it
to be. we color by thought not by
numbers thought by others who
want are to turn out color are life
instead with fun.

We must paint our lives the way we
wish it to be, not  to be connected
as others see, we are our own person
where it was Grey bright Red with
a dash of Green, instead of a sheep
of dots, lets just have a picture made
the way we want it to be not drawn
by other live how we want to be.
You have bestowed me with the indelible ink
And the pen dipped in it, flows effortlessly
Writing passionate words, in the pristine white
Pages, which are the canvas, of your faith in me
The supreme surrender to my muse
And I have been gifted with the freedom to emote
My inner feelings, completely exposed
As you are me, and I am you, our soul coalesced
As the passion has reached a crescendo
And the final ****** has reached a frenzied culmination





© Amitav (Radiance)
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