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 Feb 2014 Claire Ellen
SE Reimer
~
a taste for crab driving him mad
with the early morning’s outgoing tide
away he bobbed among the waves
like a floating bottle he did ride
for lacking a boat, he climbed on a life ring
for bait, a chicken wing and thigh
the last to see him bobbing claimed
they saw a dorsal fin nearby
some say that surely he made land again
that he’s gone home to bake his take
but i say don’t expect too much
for i think he met an awful fate
for surely what can one expect?
when a man gets a wild hair
and off he goes on a bobbing ring
with only a wing and a prayer
~
post script.  

a taste for crab, so i’m off to the pacific tomorrow with friends.  
the anticipation got me licking my chops so I rambled off
this silly ditty.  i promise she is a sturdy boat and will bring us
all safely home with crab in tow.  
crab cakes anyone?
I'm sorry that I got saltwater all over your shoulder
and that I clung to you like I was a
jungle animal and you were a tree.

I can't help it if my mascara isn't waterproof
and sticks to my face
making me look
like a raccoon.

And even though my eyes turn a stunning shade of sea-foam,
I hate this.

I hate that I can't breathe.
It's like my chest collapses like a stubborn child,
and the only way it comes back up
is if you feed it all the pain and sorrow you so
willingly vomited out in the first place.

I hate how my face gets all red and wet
and no matter how hard I try,
I won't dry off.

Looking like a raccoon isn't half bad,
but looking like the
reflection of the state your heart is in
is a different story.

I hate that my eyes burn and my face feels
raw from all of the attempts to dry it off.

I hate that when someone asks me, "Are you okay?"
my eyes decide to flood like a broken dam
pouring over innocent living things.
I envy them because at least they are alive.
Really alive.
While I'm just sitting here
moping over what everyone else thinks is nothing.
Well, my nothing is something.
And that something means more to me
than anything that they could ever dream to have.

And I'm sorry I look this way.
I'm even sorry that I feel this way.
But I will never be sorry that what I have has meaning
because that's all I need.
And that's all I've ever needed.
Because I am alright.
CHRISTMAS* is not only *FOR GIVING
but it is also about FORGIVING.
All Rights Reserved © 2013
Why do you think society expects you to
1. Dress the same
2. Talk the same
3. Have the same problems
4. Laugh at the same thing
5. Look your best at all times

Because you let it.

We’re tired of seeing the exact same photo of you with the exact same people in a different bathroom mirror every Friday night.

Why can’t you hangout with other people?
Will it ruin your “rep” that much?

Is it really necessary to get hammered every weekend?
Why are we the ones who have to sit in one spot while you rotate around the room telling the same story to every one of your “friends”

Are you sure they’re your friends?
Because they talk behind your back

Why do you stay with that *******?
You know he’s hitting on twenty other girls, including your “best friend”

You spend money to look like you work for ***** Wonka.
Can anyone say Oompa Loompa?

How come we can’t make it through Instagram without knowing your order for Starbucks?
One grande non-fat white soy peppermint mocha at exactly 120 degrees with an extra shot of syrup extra whip and sprinkles put in the cup before anything else. Please?

We can’t afford to buy gas masks just to walk by your locker.
Spraying that much perfume is deadly.

We can never tell if you’re trying to smell nice or trying to start chemical warfare.

Is that makeup or a mask?

Your bra makes you a C-cup but you’re really only an A-cup.
Shhh, we won’t tell the boys.

Is it necessary to stop in the middle of the hallway to talk to your friends?
No, get out of the way please.

We know you have a car
You don’t have to walk around holding your keys all day.

Why do you spend so long trying to perfect the “messy bun” look?
Boys aren’t looking at your hair.

People don’t see you,
they just see your persona.
Slam poem done with Mattea Koebernick in creative writing.
2am
i cried so much
that the cries turned into screams
and i drowned in my own salt water
Never have I felt so devastated as how one person,
a man,
can treat someone,
a woman,
so violently;
in words,
by intended isolation,
by the very desecration of her womanhood,
by mirth of her infallibility,
by the devastation of her entire embodiment of life,
to be his 'perfect',
to be 'his'.
It is pretty clear that when 'NO' is screamed, from my lips,
it falls on deaf ears,
blind eyes can't see the fear in my face,
hard calloused hands can't feel my sensitive skin tremble and bruise.
What man cannot have,
the man will take what he wants anyway.
The Ego is a terrible, horrific, devastating manifestation of self, onto another.
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