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 Apr 2015
Dreamer
I always wanted to be that girl, the girl with the long locks with tips that curled, locks that tumbled down her shoulders in a sea of strawberry blonde. That girl who had a shock of Caribbean blue eyes, and you could get lost staring into them. Her face was the equal of any storybook princess. I always wanted to be that girl who sauntered down the hall with all eyes on her, her fragrant of zest and lemons pervading the room. The girl all of the guys chased after, and stood in that same invidious position that aroused envy in the coveting eyes of others. The report card brought home was a chain of straight A’s and her parent’s never had disappointment scrawled across their beaming faces (so unlike mine). She wore her smile like she wore bracelets on her wrist and gained the adoration of teachers since second grade. Oh, how I wish I was that girl. How I wish I was just like her.
But no, reality defeated me. I was always the kid who sat in the very back of the class, her head swimming with thoughts that could never be true. I walked alone, among a whole ’nother world that belonged of my own. I sat at my desk, eyes staring out blankly with one hand under my chin, and was soon lost in a sea of my own imagination. My innocence was palpable, evident in every move; all I thought about was the marvels of the wondrous possibilities. A tall chair that manifested out of thin air, I kindly took a seat and surveyed everything that traversed across keen eyes. The world beamed radiantly upon me and everybody would soon know the  covert talents I obtain. Nobody knew my fervor in the arts, nor were they aware of my sumptuous world. All I’ve ever been was the ‘quiet girl in the back’, but they don’t know the thoughts that swam in my mind.
Friends tell me ‘Get your oblivious head out of that world and into the stupid game called reality.’ Mom says, ‘You can’t find your socks in the sock drawer.’ Lil’ Bro goes, ‘You didn’t save me that cookie!’ Then Dad hollers, ‘Alice Wake Up!’ every morning.
I was never the perfect daughter, ideal sister, teacher’s pet, and I wake up late on mornings but I’m still testing out my wings and one day I’ll be able to fly. I’ll make sure of it. I’m not quite there yet, but I’m working on it and someday I’ll exceed her, being the closest thing to perfection you can get. I need to stop saying ‘one day’ and start saying ‘I will.’
I’m not who y’all think I am; just some crazy girl with a crazy imagination. Dreaming is your first baby step, and if you can’t dream, where else can you begin? Still, I wonder when my innocence will be shattered; maybe it already has. Until then, I’m still endeavoring to become just like her.
(Written in 8th grade)
 Apr 2015
Vanessa Gatley
Weather for the 1st in a while
  Perfect
  Warm sun shining I got my fav
  Shell shirt on
        With my new legging capris
     A nice bra birthday posts
     My option to do what I like
         What I want too
     Feeling beautiful and pretty
      My best for the 1 and only day of the year
       Even tho  I can't walk due to my broken ankle
      I still pretend that nothing is wrong ]
            As if I could jump run skip walk my own way style
 Apr 2015
Virginia S
Time is passing by and I don't mind
waiting even if it's not just a while
if only i could find the
meaning of a life
without you
i wouldnt
have to
but
.
    .
.
  .
.

life
without
you would
make me fear and
make me shiver would
be so bitter that i would wait
id say more, than a thausand years
 Apr 2015
CapsLock
Down goes the night,
somehow I just can tell.
Another day with no sunlight
and I'll spend it in my cell.

I once did a bad deed,
I shooted someone in the head
then I ran, I quickly fleed,
before he dropped dead.

Yes, I had my reasons
for such a hideous crime,
but that doesn't help in prision
where I'm doing my time.

I know I had it coming...
I know justice was served.
but I hate to feel rotting...
Rotting in my cell...
One for J. Cash
 Apr 2015
heather leather
well okay so
apparently you're never going to see these
because you deleted the app off your phone and
so i would like to formally say goodbye to all of our conversations
like i know this is really silly
but just seeing that i was talking to you made me so happy.
it's like you're this constant ray of love in my life
(even though i know you don't love me) and i just always loved reading our old conversations, they make me happy
but now you're off to boarding school and
as much as you might say you'll keep in contact i know you won't;
it's inevitable.  so i figure, why let all of our old conversations lay there
as if they matter that much anymore to you,
why taunt myself with them?
even if they made me happy sometimes it's better to
let go of things before they destroy you. so i will.
and hopefully we can still have more conversations in the future,
when you're signing books in Barnes' and Nobles
and you glance up to ask who to make this out to
(make it out to Heather Leather by the way if you can still remember what it means)  and you see me, maybe then
we'll talk to each other in an old cafe and catch up on life.
although i doubt this will ever happen,
I like to dream about these things;
they make me happy when i feel scared or alone.
but until then, until we meet in barnes' and nobles' and
go to central park for coffee; i guess this is goodbye to all our late-night conversations and endless lines of poems and songs.
i have loved you in a friends-way, in a not-so-friends way and in a i-don't-know-what-this-is-but-it-makes-me-happy kind of way. and while i don't like to talk about loving people in the future, i will say this
if there is one person that has ever aggravated me so much it is you,
and if there's ever a person i will regret not knowing in the future,
it is also you. and if i end up being a good person in the future
(which i hope i will be) know that it is highly possible that
i will love you because you have made me a better person, a better poet, and perhaps most importantly, a happier person.
so i guess this wasn't a goodbye to only our old conversations,
maybe it was also a goodbye to the past you and me,
and while this isn't the last time i will talk to you in a long time
(can't get rid of me that easily)
this will probably be the last time that i
read our old late night conversations about food and poetry
and songs and how much you love Lana del Rey and how i
am obsessed with 5 seconds of summer
and so goodbye to that,
it was good while it lasted,
and hopefully we will create many more late night conversations
but until then, goodbye to the jokes we laughed at,
the homework we cried over, and the music we argued about
yours truly,
heather

p.s. i love you to the moon and back
p.p.s: it was an honor having my heart broken by you
((so this was written in the perspective of a person on their phone so yeah))
for a.m.
((also congrats on the whole boarding school thing idek if you got
in yet but i have a feeling you did so yeah))
(double also wHO GOT THE TFIOS REFERENCE AYE? okay i need to
stop bye x.)
 Apr 2015
kas
you wrote it down,
what he looked like in the
moonlight
on summer nights miles from home
you get inside
staggering,
foot slipping on wood floors
then bathroom linoleum
the porcelain tub is unrelenting
but you fall asleep there anyway.
droplets clinging to your jeans.
can you even feel it anymore?
you wake up in the morning
neck ache to match your headache
sunlight burns your eyes
and you can’t remember
if you wanted to take a bath
or if you couldn’t make it to bed.
minutes later,
you’ve filled the toilet with remnants
of last night’s party
and you’ve downed two aspirin
washing it down with water from a cup
that you saw as half empty.
you find the napkin from the bar,
absent pen marks turn to words.
you wanted to remember
what he looked like in the moonlight
silhouetted in the pale glow.
you were both sticky with humidity.
there was a lack of breeze
in the middle of all of those trees
as he walked you from the party to the bar.
tiny clouds were scattered across the sky
but not once
did they fall across the moon.
and between his words,
the crickets and the katydids,
there was never a moment of silence.
however,
like dreams,
just because you wrote it down
doesn’t mean that you remember.
so you clench your fist,
napkin crumpled
words wrinkled,
hidden.
phrases incomplete.
you still remember what color his eyes are
but you can’t seem to picture
how they shown under celestial lights
and you can hear his voice in your head
but you can’t recall
what he said to you,
or what you said to him.
or if he held your hand
or if he kissed your lips...
you lie in bed
like laying in graves
at the end of each day.
head sick from the gin
or maybe from him
because lately, it’s become harder to tell.
last night’s clothes lay on the floor
like a body.  
you’ve turned all the lights off
pulled the curtains closed,
but even in the dark,
your sobering mind can’t remember
what happened last night.
 Apr 2015
SummertimeLace
Behold my eye
See what I see
Age is lovely
According to me

Wrinkles like road maps of where i've been
Crow’s feet of joy
And frown lines of sorrow

Spots of warm summers
Long past
Stuck on my face
From the ancient sun
That sets in the West

My voice
Past its time
Telling stories of my prime
When my beauty was clear to see
And people didn't have pity on me

Now that I'm old
And hunched and grey
Look beyond my face
Where my true beauty lay
From her point of view inspired by a  conversation I had with her before she died
 Apr 2015
Word Therapy
Some people have an IT that they must face
A beast ahead or demon on the shoulder
For them the IT is writ in upper case.

I fear that many men hide every trace
Of tears and self in masks appearing bolder
Some people have an IT that they must face

And those who gaze transfixed at the sheer pace
Of life's descent to dust, to rust and moulder,
For them the IT is writ in upper case.

My beauty meets her monsters every place.
And though I'm often there to hug and hold her
My darling has an IT that she must face

She battles them with discipline and grace
And lives by dint of detail, file and folder
Each labelled by an IT in upper case.

Though time will always catch us in the chase
It's fear of living true that turns us colder
Some people have an IT that they must face
For them the IT is writ in upper case.
I decided to try the 'villanelle' form after reading 'One Art' by Elisabeth Bishop.
This is the first poem I've written.
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