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 Sep 24
Blue Sapphire
A girl child
when born
to a family

is

either
seen as

a

burden to be
disposed of

or

too precious a treasure
kept hidden for protection

but

not once considered
as a human being.
Personal experience
 Sep 22
zoe
One day I will be gone
not gone like leave or move away
I mean I will die someday

I know it will happen someday
it happens to everyone
and one day it will happen to me
and when that happens
don't cry

I don't want you to cry
I know that if i die before you and not with you
will be because I committed;  
no matter how sad you feel don't cry
because I will always be there with you

I will leave you a note of everything I was thinking before I died
remembering what I use to tell you  
written at the end
"I love the stars when I die I want to become one, if I ever die before you I want you to always look at them and see me in one."
 Sep 20
Jasper
Quiet calls my name from the clouds.
I lost my wings,
a deafening reality.
Quiet calls my name from the clouds.
Just a poem about longing for solitude or peace.
The stars were not to blame
Nor the ocean between us
Or even that dreadful place
We used to call home

It was only you and me
Always a little too wrong
And maybe just a little
Too late
 Sep 15
Nobody
i walked downstairs to my room
and cried the way i had taught myself.
curled up in a ball
tears dripping to the ground
gripping the floor
screaming
crying
yelling
but never heard.
silent.
i would never wake my family!
why, that would be mean.
so i cry.
silently.
and rip my hair out
and try not to cut
and punch the floor
and hug myself
and punch myself
and hate myself and feel so, so sorry for the little boy who had to deal with this.
for myself.
i hate this
 Sep 15
ABB
Today is my birthday,
I’m turning eleven.
My one wish is that when I’m twenty,  
I still feel like seven.
I hear yelling,
An explosion of pandemonium.
I rush downstairs,
Tripping over them.
My smile stretches from wall to wall
I see my loving parents,
Knives in hand,
And at each other’s throats.
The smile fades.
No wishes of any kind.
I return to my room.
Take pencils.
And make myself blind.  

— from my chapbook Glass Three Quarters Empty
 Sep 15
Esme
You looked at me like love could grow,
But, I, am a garden choked in frost,
Our love could never blossom,
Never break the icy exterior,
You are the brightest sun and ,
And the winter grows stronger when I believe
that spring was possibly near,
I still doubt the light that reaches me,
I remember I learnt to freeze warmth too,
Now I spend my days surrounded by evergreen
Bound to wither forever,
And sadly my fate is sealed,
And you my love,
Have to bare witness,
Working over time to save me and yet still,
I frost every summer,
And still you warm,
And still we sleep,
And still when winter comes,
You, my love ,are gone.
being unlovable
 Sep 15
Traveler
Are such narratives abrasive
Such as the condition of our racists
Like our cops who fear black faces
Perhaps you find such dialog tasteless

Would you rather read of love
Higher powers from above
Blinded souls that now can see
Angelic intervention when we bleed

Are you afraid to know
Or uncomfortable
Surely you must have a care
The establishment
Has taken the power
While we were unaware...
Traveler Tim
 Sep 15
Nat Lipstadt
Sep 15
2 0 15

your poem read,
awoken by lightening flashes of
morning notifications arriving,
postmarked from
"I liked it"

but it does not
end there,
continues,
to a new ending

who and why,
who and why,
did this one find
their own
worthy in it
that was writ unknowingly
just for them

and
you look them up,
guessing
who and why,
rereading your hand's work,
which verse was it,
was it for a blessing or a
curse,
that touched them,
that made them
touch
you

each "like,"
a work in itself

re examined,
re searched,
re imagined
in the
light of
who they are
and
why they are
liking words I wrote

a single poem
bring hours of imagination,
each "like"
individually gift wrapped,
each human liking rapt,
each imagine a rapture,

each "like"
a new poem
about the who and why
each name a disguise to unravel,
each name a title
of a new different,
imagined poem,
who and why,
we
like
each other

~~~
6:53am
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