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 Mar 2016
Graff1980
You are wounded
and when you heal
You will still feel
The pain
The scar will still
Be there
A crest upon your flesh
But you will still
Be beautiful
 Mar 2016
Dana Valerie
the sky blushes at the sight of you
while the wind can't keep its hands away,
caressing
feeling
kneading/needing every inch of your delicate frame and together you dance through the dawn in an intricate waltz to music only you can hear

the sky blushes at the sight of you
while the clouds whisper sweet things about you,
gossiping
admiring
lusting over the concept that someone as beautiful as you might be able to one day love them too, but knowing you wont they disperse and clear your view to leave only the blushing sky in their wake with nothing left to hide behind

the sky blushes at the sight of you
while the moon attempts to catch one last glimpse of you
sneaking
stretching
peeking over the horizon to see just how beautiful a creature you are, but it can't stay long so it settles for the scrapes on your knees and the bruises on your knuckles and can't help but think that they only add to your unsurpassable beauty

the sky blushes at the sight of you
while you stare at the stars that are rapidly and seemingly altogether
fading
melting
disintegrating because the sky cannot help but stare back at the lovely soul that gazes above to make the sky wonder if it's pretty enough, so the sky goes through every colour to please you, black, blue, grey, purple, orange, before finally giving up in a fit of embarrassment that you always seem to find prettiest

the sky blushes at the sight of you
while you can't help to blush back
 Mar 2016
Finley in Despair
We are not all travellers
Though we have all traveled
We are not all growing
Even so, we have all grown
We are not all wanted
Yet we are all wanting
We are not all sad
Knowing we all have sadness
We can't all be touching
Like we can all be touched
Just like we can't all be felt
Cruel
As we can all feel
We are not all loved

That said, we are all loving
Not all loving but everyone

Loves
 Mar 2016
Finley in Despair
Incomprehensibly inebriated, I stood up
Whether I walked, stumbled, fumbled or
Even crawled; I need not know or care
I struck you my friend, my best one too
Never did I deserve such company anyway
Pity, six of the best and hardest years spent
Mostly with you by my side and I by yours
Knowing what's best for someone is hard
A two way curse I say, whilst it may be best
It mightn't be what is wanted or needed
For arguments sake, we'd squabble
In the name of fun and youth we'd dabble
To be cast aside and know you deserve it
Friend, it hurts but the damage is done

Incomprehensibly inebriated, I threw
Six of the best, hardest years away
They say boys don't cry but we did,
When they said we couldn't attend our
High school prom because we didn't
Behave or act in a way that proved we
Wanted and deserved to go, although it
Wasn't for lack of trying, I remember
Those phone calls, Those late nights
I remember the successful appeal we made
How we both attended the prom, delightful
How your date was drop dead gorgeous
How mine kind of, wasn't?
You laughed Because she wanted to sleep with me and
You could tell I wasn't keen, funny times

Now we're 20 and we don't really speak
I know it's only been three to four weeks
Since I irreversibly ****** up, it's just
It feels like a long time now, I think a lot
About how I'm not friend material because
I hurt people, emotionally and physically
I'm a lousy drunk and cynical too
I've been this way a long time, nothing new
I have problems buried down deep
Even demons too, but I fought them
With others, I fought them with you
I miss my friends
 Mar 2016
Finley in Despair
She wants me to write her a poem.
In truth,
She makes me want to write,
About love.
Though I know too little.
I know little of poetry,
Little of her.
Little of love.
I'm just not up to scratch.
 Mar 2016
Finley in Despair
As I look into your eyes
I know this feeling,
This moment,
Could be misinterpreted
By the both of us
As love.

Even the curious eyes
That watch us eagerly
Like some tacky
Reality TV show
Are passively hoping
Unintentionally
Wishing
That this,
Means something.
poetry at work
 Mar 2016
Jamie F Nugent
The black cloud will shroud
The multicoloured rainbows -
A hard rain is going to fall -
The honey bear won't wake
From her hibernation,
She will dream of placing
Her paws into golden beehives.

The swallows will migrate swiftly
To African shores of green and blue,
They won't be coming back soon.

Our black-cloud sky
Will be composed of ravens and crows,
Squawking tuneless nocturnes
Whilst pecking at our windowpane.

Where are our rainbows?
Where is our sunshine?
Where have our honey bears
And our swallows gone?


-Jamie F. Nugent
 Mar 2016
Medhina Khanal
"WON"T YOU GET TIRED OF LOVING ME ?" she asked

"HAS THE SUN EVER GOT TIRED OF RISING." He replied.
 Mar 2016
Tiana Lloyd
She was an Angel seeking Chaos
He was a Demon seeking Peace
both cursed, ******— victims of a Fate Divided...
They would never Meet.

She would search for him in Calamity
In violence, cries, and screams
Only to exhaust herself in Destruction
Resigned to see him in Fractured Dreams.

He would search for her in Tranquility
In serenity,  hope, and love
Yet could never touch her Light...
Should've searched below, yet looked above.

They wandered the earth Lost
They both wandered the earth so Lone
Both broken, tired, defeated...
Searching for Loves Lost and Never Known...

She remained an Angel seeking Chaos
And He remained a Demon seeking Peace
They would wander for all of Eternity
Never once finding what they Seek...
 Mar 2016
Minal Govind
Sometimes I worry
about the amount of things
I will have
left
to say to you next time -
should I make a list?

How will I account for segways?
(You take a lot of detours
and I follow in fear that you'll walk
away,
but I'm expected to find my way
back.)
I'll bring breadcrumbs next time;
maybe ducks will eat them though.

As long as I'm with you, anywhere
feels right.
Like on your kitchen counter,
sipping sickly sweet grape juice
while you microwaved popcorn.

Or on the stairs in the basement -
where I discovered your heart
beat
and you discovered that my lips are sweet.

Or crouched on the tiles behind the cabinet
with tears puddling around me
and I text you instructions not to call
but you
still
tried,
7 times,
and you said that it's okay if I say nothing.

Back to square one:
we find ourselves with phones to our ears -
(yours possibly taped to your head because
you like to eat at
1 am)
in silence together.

At some point, I cave -
'What's the point of this? We could be silent and not on the phone with each other.'

You reply - 'It's just better this way because I can
Feel you.'

We'll never run out of silence
because now it's all we have.
 Mar 2016
Cat Aquino
The New Mexico sky is alive,
redder than a child’s wagon on a dusty front lawn
and the stars blink like forgotten Christmas lightswhile constellations shift, dissatisfied with their placements, sending ripples through mythology with every new shape they make.

We have blankets and enough hope among us
to keep the morning star burning above the far hills—
I am flanked by mountainous profiles;
the crag of a nose, the devastating valley of a lip.

We are wondering if someone out there could read our thoughts
if someone would take an interest in what puts our bodies together.
Misguided, we gaze upward.

It’s crazy to believe we’re alone in the universe, someone says,
and I smile into my shoulder, considering,
of all things,
space:

the starry unknown
between fingers and words.
written in October 2014
published in the ICA Literary Magazine 2015
to-be published in the Ampersand Literature and Art Folio in 2016
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