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 Aug 2015
Just Melz
Maybe my idea of beauty
            is different
    than yours
  Maybe my idea of perfection
            is not about what's less
       but about what's more
  Maybe my eyes can see through skin
     into the heart, soul and mind
              that's deep within
     Maybe, just maybe
             looking at what's inside
      is where we should all begin
 Aug 2015
DM
This pencil
This paper
Looks just like coke and razors

I write so much I can't feel your kiss
I'm not attached to humanity
Except through this bleeding heart
That I'm slowly whittling away
It's taking shape of something so ******* beautiful

But you always say I'm killing myself
That I'm in denial
Crocodile tears and a plastic smile
For a while you fool yourself into thinking you're right
For a while you fall for your own *******

This apathy
These scars
Tattoos of times I've been torn apart

I ache for human touch
But every nerve has been severed
I close myself inside
Your ****** up mind
And watch your memories in silence
What we made is so decayed and rotten
We denied life to what we'd forgotten
I can't look at my reflection without slitting its throat
I remember what you told me and I quote:

But you always say I'm killing myself
That I'm in denial
Crocodile tears and a plastic smile
For a while you fool yourself into thinking you're right
For a while you fall for your own *******

This love
Those emotions
Can't find which hole in my heart they go in

I balance my life on the edge of a blade,
I get cut and nicked
No matter which turn I take
I'm teetering, watching myself bleed
It leads me to believe that smile was always fake
There was no right time to deny the lies I regretted
Self destruction was the first defense I hated
As I see all these lines blurred in my head
Thinking back to what you said...

But you always say I'm killing myself
That I'm in denial
Crocodile tears and a plastic smile
For a while you fool yourself into thinking you're right
For a while you fall for your own *******
 Aug 2015
Mitch Nihilist
candle essences portraying the room
as a waxed out sort of gloom -
flickering inconstancies shadowing the
wall with silhouettes as inconstant seas
swaying the milky wall with an undertow
that invites the paint in my mind
to drip leaving a revelation to rewind
to every broken dream, every time you
reached out and felt fingertips slip
with a handle so tight yet no reflecting grip -
thoughts to paper leave the
keyboard clicks echoing a room
compressing notions in a waxed out
sort of gloom.
 Aug 2015
niamh
Silenced, in awe,
They watched her paint,
Bringing life to a canvas.
Bold colours
And fierce brushstrokes.
They marvelled at her masterpiece.
Me, I watched her face as she painted,
The emotions sweeping over her,
Bringing life to the canvas she was.
And I was humbled
And I was in awe
And I marvelled
At the true masterpiece.
 Aug 2015
niamh
She glides majestically along
The icy blue lake
With barely a ripple.
Long neck and pristine feathers,
A picture of poise and elegance,
Regal calm and
Breathtaking beauty.
The other birds look on jealously
But fail to see
Her frightened feet
Paddling furiously beneath the surface.
 Aug 2015
Jerielle Lasac
They say it's about who comes into your thoughts at 2 a.m.
But you came to me like war and flame
That runs in through my mind night and day
 Aug 2015
beth fwoah dream
dreams that soften,
calming the mind
until it sighs like a ghost.
 Aug 2015
Amanda Stoddard
My reality is ephemeral-
I have trouble comprehending
what's actually real anymore.
My thoughts play too into what is in front of me
and I misconstrue almost every instance.
I am capricious and conflicted at all times-
never knowing my wrongs from my rights
never really feeling entitled to what I feel.
So I feel like my feelings are never valid
does that mean my invalidation is invalid?
Conflicted.
Constantly.
So I count the only things I know for sure.

1)  My mother gets headaches, migraines actually. Everyday-
doctors visits followed by phone calls which say "You're fine" but from what I see she is not fine. She drinks her soda and smokes her cigs. Finds her only peace of mind in this piece of mine. Mary is her friend.

2) My Dad gets pains in his hands to where he can't write some days. He loses feelings in them on occasion. He coughs for a half an hour every morning spitting up the mucus that lines his lungs. He drinks coffee and then goes for a cigarette. He drinks his beer and finds solitude in an alcohol content higher than my gpa. I start to wonder what's more important to him.

3) My brother works hard, he's lazy on some days but puts in effort where it really matters. He drinks his makers and tries to drown out whatever he feels the need to. He grows things to remind himself he can. He is a lot like my father.

4) I have a 3.4 gpa currently, I am bipolar type II. Most days I have at least two anxiety attacks, one if I get really lucky. I wake up everyday feeling sick. I have endometriosis. I was molested, twice. I am currently still trying to repair the love that was ripped from me like my heart was being taken to the black market for some pocket change. I drink my coffee, and drown my sorrows in blank pages and bury them into my therapists couch on wednesdays. I never satisfied with the affirmation I receive. I find solitude in dark corners. I am at war with myself..

I would like to turn this around-
flip the script and make something happy out of this.
But reality is not happy-
reality is nothing but perception.
Your reality can be happy
if you turn a blind eye to the destruction
or just appreciation that it breeds creation.
Always question.
Never settle.
Remember the things to which are true.

1) The grass is green, but not everyone sees the same shade.

2) Rain is necessary for growth, but it can also ****.

3) Technology is rapidly advancing faster than we can learn about it.

4) Poetry is the greatest magic trick we can hope to know, seeming one way but appearing another to every single individual who comes across it. Poetry is the biggest con artist and the best therapist. It is lined with metaphors and double entendres, it sits in stanzas and hopes to be read.

This is the end of the poem
and I have trouble feeling okay
with how things have been mapped out for me
aligned by the universe in one shape or form
we are all just shapes and forms
and we're constantly waiting in line-
filling out forms
in hopes of filling our voids
by doing a line of some sort
until our check voids
and the cycle continues.
Maybe that's why I see myself
whenever I look into the washer.
Longing to be washed away-
ring me out, hang me up
I want to feel like I am able to be worn.
 Aug 2015
Caitlin
Will baring my emotions though my poetry ever be enough?
Is it ever enough to wear my heart on my sleeve?
Are my emotions ever enough for anyone?
 Aug 2015
Peanut
F                                                           F
       *a                                                           a

               l                                                            l
­                       l                            *and                         l
                              *i                              ­                              i

                                ­     n                                                           n
                                              g              ­                                            g
                  ­     In Love                                                   Apart


                                          At The Same Time
2 things that I hate compliment each other.
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