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 Jul 2016 Xian
misty
Conflicted
 Jul 2016 Xian
misty
The thing about me is that
I write what I feel with so much positivity
Only to ruin my wrists again after a year

The thing about me is that I type texts
And I smile across the table to make sure someone eats
With that I shake my head saying that "I have no appetite"

The thing about me is that I love to run
I run and run, past trees, past people
All in all, I run away from myself.
The mirror behind the 4th door down from my living room

The thing about me is that I desire to be loved
Praying to God each day for him
Yet when he comes, I'll break up with him within a day

The thing about me is that I am every way of the word
Conflicted
I want to be alive yet I want to wave from above
 Jul 2016 Xian
Amelia of Ames
On a scale of 1-10, 1 being the lowest and 10 being the highest:
1. How cute did my **** look as I walked home from school?
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
2. How old must a girl be before you catcall her?
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
3. How many miles is a girl allowed to travel from her home before she is a target?
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
4. In this deadly hot summer, how many layers must a girl wear to protect herself from your cries?
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
5. How many times has this method of courtship ever been effective?
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
6. How many boys does a girl need in order to protect her from you?
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
7. How many times has someone catcalled your mother, your sister, your daughter?
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
8. If unable to answer Question 7, how many times have they come home crying, holding their clothes tight to shield themselves?
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
9. How many letters are in my name?
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

I'm sorry. That last question was unfair.
You would never know my name because,
despite all the curses and jeering,
you never once asked for it.

My name is @@@@@@.
I am not your "baby."
I am not your "**."
I am not your "****."
I am me, and I belong to no one.

10. How likely are you to allow me to not be anything else?
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
*Please note that this poem is not an attack on the entire male gender, or even sexually mature adult males.
This is a poem in defense against the many men and boys who casually fling ****** assaults out their car windows. This is a poem created to make us think about how common this problem of casual objectification is, and how far we have really come as a developed society if it still exists. If this poem seems like a whine about my insecurities, note who this poem is addressed to. This is for them, not for me. To these men, I am nothing more than a target, a source for cheap laughs. No matter how confident I can be, how safe I feel in my own skin, I cannot change their very different impression of me in the instant they drive past.
I want to challenge their perception where I can, and I want this poem to reflect the process back at them while using the very common rating system that people use to judge shallow physical beauty.
 Jul 2016 Xian
Erenn
Nocturne
 Jul 2016 Xian
Erenn
As the sun rises
At the edge of oblivion
I stood here with the intent of plummeting
This heart wavering at its end
Barely pumping 
My soul no longer at its pasture

Wait,
What is this? What’s this sound? A tune?
A sudden melodic presence staggered my senses
Awoke from my nightmare of fatuous melancholy past
This tune
This melody
This beautiful presence
Brought my soul back to innocence

I can see her
But I couldn't see her face
Her fire sparks as she plays
I can feel her entity-
Rupturing every part of my enmity
She’s in this glass with infinite bright
The lark who saves every norm from falling
Igniting her flames to those in need

But I did fall
I fell hard
Not to my demise
But for this girl with the violin

And I feel alive
For the first time
I feel alive.


@Erennwrites
Inspired by the ethereal tune of Nocturne
 Jul 2016 Xian
katie
dream
 Jul 2016 Xian
katie
there was a
dream here
once,
it came in
        via the
rain,
fed crops,
     livestock, us,
but at dawn it
had gone,
    taken the
bus to
somewhere
it could belong,
somewhere
         made of
sturdier stuff.
I imagine
     it rolling itself
up into
             the dust,
         coating the
backs of tongues,
speaking a
        language so
different to my
own, I imagine
it finally feels
like home.
 Jul 2016 Xian
KB
FLOAT
 Jul 2016 Xian
KB
Potted flowers have a base
Something you didn’t have, couldn’t have
I remembered your smell yesterday while
Cleaning out the laundry room – the one with the
Cactus plant you loved and the huge windows with painted
Dragonflies in the corners
Some days I skip 6pm meals
My hair is starting to look like brown rose stems
The thorns landed in my hands and every time
I go to touch you I bleed first
I've started studying maps
The more I try to draw out my way
The more tangled my veins get, stuck to the beat
Of a song glued to the sun of our Monday morning
Pancakes and forehead kisses
I can't get enough of mint chocolate or turtles
The green ones seem too intrepid not to appreciate
The ones in my dreams don’t swim
 Jul 2016 Xian
Jenna
We live in a world of talkers,
Of shouters, of debaters, of know it alls.
Listening is a long extinct creature,
Unheard of by a species that has devolved to simply wait their turn to talk.
Conversations no longer flow like rivers,
Instead they are puddles:
Started, then abandoned to become bone dry.

We live in a world of talkers,
All raising their volume to be heard,
Shouting that their opinions are fact.
No being is exempt from the epidemic,
The infectious itch to crank the volume dial right
And scream that the other talkers are wrong.

We live in a world of talkers,
Of screamers, of bigots, of smart alecs
In a universe not made for this noise.
The voices get louder, the status updates get longer, the protests get deadlier.
We live in a world of talkers
And soon we will live in a world of mutes.

— The End —