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 Nov 2020
Seranaea Jones
-

she stands there with
equal curiosity and
reaches as i do
towards the
surface

thinking
how we both
could dismiss the
truth of the glass—

knowing
we each think
alike and are of
the same mind

believing
in each other's
convictions of
being

accepting
the warmth
of our fingertips

to prove we each
exist on opposite
sides

wishing to join
one another

looking deep into
focused eyes

whispering
permission

to allow the
other's hand
to slip aside

and
pass              
through...



s jones
2020



.
 Nov 2020
Seranaea Jones
-


oh, considerate
counselors~

i fear the scars of your instruction
will never erode, even after i
melt down your mental
tarbabies
with a solution
that i hope will make
them chemically dissolve away,

leaving nothing but your staples.

what was it really ?
hyperactivity, autism,
anomalies of perception,
social detachment,
maybe—

a Gift ?

well, i guess it would not have
made a difference, everybody
knew of this but
                                  me-

patching up my gray matter mistakes
with remedies permanently cemented
between impressionable foldings

i feel this cure like masonry damming
where free-flowing thoughts that ride
upon streams into oceans were supposed
to have discharged naturally,

stopping me from causing my
summers to mix with everybody
else's winters (or vise versa).

you see, my natural configuration
would have sated for me what
would —in turn— infuriate others,

thus the picket around me was built
sufficiently lofty so i would never
grow tall enough to oversee it.

these days i often mistaken this perimeter
for bricks that line the inside of a well,
complete with a leaky bucket
swinging overhead,
beyond my
reach—


of all things an adult child could ever
want for Christmas, the removal of
what now prohibits true potential

these things they instilled into me
so i could not violate the principals
of conventional wisdom in their day—

but this is
My Day
now !

and dead counselors need
not protect their world
from Me anymore !

and this Gift ?

it continues drifting
conspicuously aloft
in my gray ocean—

a Divine Gratuity that remains
—to this day— unsuitable
for redemption...


s jones
© 2020


.
Maybe love will hurt you.
Maybe it will help you discover who you are.
It will be a bridge between your soul and another's soul.
You will cross many times that same bridge to find your loved one's heart.

You will do it no matter the difficulty or the distance between the two edges
Because when you love you only see what drives you there.
You won't see any barriers.

And it may come the time when you have to say goodbye
For the last time.
That bridge, that connection, may lose communication
But something meaningful happened for
Two hearts.
 Oct 2020
Druzzayne Rika
Skim through the pages of my life,
Skip through the lies I've been entwined,
It is the story of the girl trying to please
You, me and everybody, trying for your love.
I loathe the very picture she becomes,
It is very like she wilts without your approval,
She'd be giving pieces of her to all,
but next day, naturally, she finds herself in trash.

It isn't kind, the life she creates with her head,
her best attempts causing natural disrupts,
the purpose to be everyone's friend,
makes her enemy of her own self.
She lost everyone, love and inspite
and despite everything, she writes another write.

It is terrible, what I do with her,
She has been ruining everything for me,
Her and I, together, we make a lonely picture.
Skip this, and be free from this.
The end chapter, what went by,
no one knows, maybe she died alone
in the worn out sweater she had grown,
She hoped, her end might have pleased them all.
 Oct 2020
Ariana Solo
We tend to tell people our whole story

Without letting them read the blurb on the back first

Giving them the option to put you back on the shelf

And allow the right reader to choose you

📖 📖 📖 📖 📖
 Oct 2020
Carlo C Gomez
I've been a combination
of many things:

Window slats
& Roman numerals

Door knobs
& swimming pools

Bulletproof glass
& Magic Wand Massagers

Bird droppings
& ruffled feathers

The beginnings of a migraine
& a burst of birdsong

Alas!
My heart was never into it

Not one could return me
To sinus rhythm
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