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 Apr 2014 Clare Wright
jennee
A sunflower that blooms without the sun
A silhouette that lingers along the walls
Without a figure, eavesdropping, wanting for more
A sense of taste without bitterness, sweetness nor contentment
A presence that stood still amongst the crowd
A lost soul forgotten by the bus
Another day, sulking in resentment
A scent that was never there, just a person with a lonely heart
Waiting for comfort, until the day, they finally fall apart
A smile left hanging by a thread
A goodbye less, a long lost hug from a friend
Another half to fill the empty space between two arms
Fingertips that caress unmended scars
Faded, torn, unintended, absent, belittled, irrelevant
Another breathing human less
Another life, crushed and torn into shreds

n.j.
I'm that girl,
whom everybody seems to rely on.
They know they have me,
where they want,
because I'm a puppy.
They know I'm not letting,
their,
***** little secrets,
out.
They know the can count on me.

''It's our little secret,''
they say,
with a grin on their faces,
showing the attention seeker side,
of them.
They wanna be heard,
and listened to,
so they come to me.

But what about,
when,
I need to be heard,
and listened to?
Who can I tell my own,
little secrets to?

(e.k.j.)
secret, secrets, rant, rants, me, personal, sad, depressed, unhappy, ****, ****** poem, love ,*****, rely, relate, relatable
She saw how the angry, greyish ocean
crashed upon the shore
with such fury and disgust
and couldn't help but compare it
to the endless nights where
she'd sit and stare at that
hateful, taunting piece of glass
with a reflection as grotesque
as the image of the waves
while they aimed to devour the coastline.
I don't feel pretty today. It happens.
 Apr 2014 Clare Wright
NyQuil
Us.
 Apr 2014 Clare Wright
NyQuil
Us.
On this night I drown my sorrows, so cliche
But whiskey is a great friend
But I drink to an occasion this night
The occasion being, me.
Thanking all the socially unaccepted kids people frown upon
The ones the popular ones despise
The outcast
Rebels
Castaways
Whatever you may call Us
Maybe it's friends
Maybe it's enemies
Although we'll never be the ones that control the world
We will try our best to save it from itself
Society itself has eroded earth more than all the water and wind in the universe
The ones who destroy it complain about the society they've created
While Us
The outcast
Rebels
Castaways
We try to save it
But are frowned upon for doing so
Maybe our world is doomed
But we'll never give up.
I toast to all of you tonight
The outcast
Rebels
castaways
A soft smooth motion 
across the skin of your feet-
A peaceful touch of grace 
that strokes the knots and
relieves the strain.
The stressful day complete,
no bickering or complaints.
This calm, this quiet 
must remain for the sake of our brains
You must realize,
It's the end of the day-
You're safely at home
And everything is okay.
Copyright Christopher Rossi, 2010
 Sep 2010 Clare Wright
DJ Thomas
Overlooking the valley
just chatting

The chasm between being asked and told
our need for sharing not telling
Love’s consideration and understanding
offering, giving never demanding

Watching the sunset
just flirting

A touch
an ****** suggestion
Hot
needing cool sheets
copyright©DJThomas@inbox.com 2010
I go when my head is over crowded with thoughts,

When my heart is overwhelmed with feelings,

And when the ignorant and shrill voices of my family and peers are too much to bear.

I seclude myself within the walls of the auditorium.

In the auditorium, there are endless possibilities,

It is filled with a vast emptiness of echoing silence.

It is so nice to hear silence.

I walk up on stage and close my eyes,

Not to visualize a performance, but to listen.

I stand.

I stand till I can’t feel my body.

Till I can’t feel anything .

Till I cease to exist.

I sing.

I sing not to hear the words, only the notes.

The sound floats up like a cloud.

It floats, swells, and fills, as I breathe life into the room.

Each note echoes blending one into the other.

It fills my ears and my mind,

Until there are no more thoughts

No more tears

Only music.
1738

Softened by Time’s consummate plush,
How sleek the woe appears
That threatened childhood’s citadel
And undermined the years.

Bisected now, by bleaker griefs,
We envy the despair
That devastated childhood’s realm,
So easy to repair.
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