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 Oct 2018
The Mellon
Your name means many things my sweet.

Your first is a continuation of many before. A take on a name well loved.

It resembles family narrative and new beginnings,
Yet it brings back memories of old favorite books.

Though she didn't know it your middle means a lot too.
My grandmothers name, may it someday pass to you.
I'm sure she would love you, and your mother, she was a spitfire too after all.

Though she didn't mean for me to see, I love the choice and all it means to me, least I know it means something to you too.

Lastly comes Berrus, my family namesake.
We don't come from much,
But we offer all that we are.

We will put food on the table and a roof overhead and we will be
Fiercely Loyal.
We arnt known for always making well thought out decisions,
But we always try to do what we think is right.

So long as I someday get to meet you
Molly Jane Berrus.
 Jul 2018
really nothing much to say...
except the tree!
I know how the roots take hold,
but we forget the soul,
so when these foul winds blow again
our hands and our hearts in-twain,
and if it's gonna fall down on me
I would rather it fall more like a leaf,
I percieve the plants in pain,
in some sort of way we even spoke.

so much sorrow in the willow
down beside the river's edge,
late at night
you can even hear her cry,
oh my lonesome weary always weeping broken willow,
you should know
you're beautiful.
you're forever

well just the other day
me and this ****
dandelion, I recall
yellow flowers, three feet tall
he was pleading I would spare him from his doom
I never guessed unwanted guest were death obessed,
consumed and stressed by paranaioa never resting
a given life unwanted test
I asked,"what would you do if you were me?"
and he said
Having Depression is like finding out that mermaids are real
It doesn’t make sense to you until you’re getting dragged to the bottom of the ocean
And then you think
That’s what this is
And I’m drowning now,
That’s just……… great
And eventually, with your last vestiges of breath left
You float back to the surface
And you’re fine.
And that’s it.
Mermaids stop existing again.
Because you never actually saw what grabbed you
You only felt the claws around your leg
The cold, clammy hands tugging
With a force that you could never fight against
But you never saw her
So it was all a dream
And it happens again and again
You are drowning again and again
Until the water begins to feel like home
And the only thing reminding you that you are alive
Is the burning in your lungs
And when everything you had balanced so very carefully starts falling
Off the shelves of your life
When your “mild” depression starts deciding it wants to be more
When being alone makes you feel dead inside
And when losing your cool for one ******* second makes you contemplate your own demise
When do you admit to yourself that you are slipping
You are sinking and just because you can slow your descent
Does not mean that you’re not still drowning
And at the end of the day just because it took you longer to get there this time
Doesn’t mean you aren’t still lying on the ocean floor
Devoid of light and sound
And if you had just climbed onto that now distant boat and sailed away
You’d be fine.
But climbing was too hard
And sinking is so much easier
And you’re scared that if you reach out
Your hands will feel clammy and cold
As they wrap around your friends throats
And drag them down with you
And you would rather rot at the bottom of an endless sea
Than let that happen
So you lie in darkness and wait
For a sound
The singular resounding sound
Of failure
And you slowly float back to the surface
Take a deep breath
And you’re fine.
Because mermaids aren’t real
It’s all in your head
This is normally performed aloud, but I wanted to share it with you all, as well
 Mar 2018
Anonymous Freak
If I had a coffee shop,
I'd call it The Lullaby.
There'd be sleepy yellow light,
And beer mugs full of
Iced tea.

I'd know all of the town
And hug the people who
Need it.
I'd have sandwiches
For rainy days,
And warm pastries
For snowy days,
And Potato salad
For hot days.

If I had a coffee shop,
Old men would sit at the bar,
Sipping their simple coffees,
And whining about the weather,
And the problems
With their cars.
If I had a coffee shop,
Old women would tell me
My cakes are made
The way their mothers used to
Make them,
And I'd serve them tea
In thriftstore
Missmatch teacups.

I'd fill my little Lullaby,
With work by unknown artists,
And strange trinkets I took
A fancy to,
And have books
About old actors,
And books meant to be
Read in a crowd
So you can imagine
The lives around you.

If I owned a coffee shop,
I'd play songs from musicals,
And garnish things
With mint leaves
And strawberries.
I'd have madalines
And my mother's coffee cake,
And her soup too.

If I had a coffee shop,
Maybe I could meet you.
 Feb 2018
When you were a young child,
you wore your naive head in the clouds.
The vastness of space was your limit,
there were no social norms to worry about.

Growing up they told you,
you should pretend that you don't care,
so when your hopes would get devastated,
disappointment could give you a spare.

And now you find yourself wondering:
when did I stop following my ambition?
The thing you regret most when you die,
is your passion's creeping omission.

Besides, how can you ever win a game,
that out of fear you did not participate in?
Without your dreams you're a soulless ghost,
like a concaved snake's skin.

If only you're bold enough to walk your own path,
alienated and without an established map.
You will soon realize that your passion's just waiting,
for your courage to close the gap.
I came to realize that in our society less people are brave enough to dream and follow their passions. No one should be judged by his ability to dream of what he/she can be. No one should have to feel ashamed to openly express what you are passionate about. It is courageous and commendable to pursue your goals.
Never forget you can be whatever you want if only you believe in yourself!
 Feb 2018
When he finally asks what’s wrong, tell him that he’s really just too good for you and you're afraid that one day he’ll wake up and realize that he could sleep with so many better women.
When he leaves the apartment and gets in the back of a taxi cab at two in the morning, don't follow him.
Maybe even though you saw him with another woman, laughing and joking in a smoky bar with their heads held close together, you still think you have a shot with him.
You don’t.

Dress yourself up if for no other reason than making yourself feel good. Put on your tightest, tiniest little black dress and some high heels and have a dance party in your own room with the stereo blasting.
Throw away his photos. Delete his texts, crumple up his notes and slot them into the paper shredder like old credit cards.
Thinking about him is dangerous; do not lie in bed in a quivering heap for days at a time. Do not mope or hit the snooze button simply so you can drift off to sleep and dream about him.
Jump in the shower and wash him out of your hair. Scrub your skin raw until you cannot smell him anymore. Wash your sheets. As you take them out of the dryer, practice saying your first and last name with adding his on.

Wreck your journal. This is the required “fresh start” your best friend told you about on New Years. She is tough and practical. Consider being more like her. Decide against it because having an affair with your husbands best friend is not practical.
Let your thoughts flow into questions that you pose to the world. Tell yourself that this is not an unfortunate habit.
Remind yourself that today in the modern world, if you’re single, that doesn't mean you’re missing “your other half.”  There isn't someone else out there running around with two arms and two legs and one head who used to be attached to one side of your body and will eventually find you again, on the street or in a deli or even at an indie rock concert in the back row; there’s just you. An imperfectly perfect human being who likes coffee or maybe hates it and has said awful, regrettable things to somebody else and is still trying to figure out how this whole life thing works.

When you are on the couch of your living room, do not reach out to squeeze the faces in the smoke you blow; do not think of his face. Reach out and draw the lines in your mothers face. She would have wanted you to.
Might edit this!
 Feb 2018
George Anthony
you are chaotic, and beautifully broken
standing stoic and silent
but the earth thrums with your screams

there is no romance to be found in pain
fret not about idealism and misconception;
i know how you suffer

but there's so much love in you,
you could make the soulless feel again
too much passion for you to know what to do with

never shown enough compassion to understand
that your mind, ill as it may be, is gorgeous
you are not awful, but awe-inspiring

hard work wears you down
but your hands are still so soft;
they were meant to be held, and kissed

you were born to be adored
and feared and wanted, to confuse with your complexity
so that only the best of people will stand with you

side by side with you, with open eyes
and open arms and open hearts
there is war in your chest and these friends will bring you peace

the world has, since birth, shown you destruction
volleyed hatred and scorn in your direction
but here is its reconciliation:

these people that love you are soldiers
ready to help you win the wars that explode in the spaces between your ribs
they will help you breathe, and smile, and sleep
 Feb 2018
i wish i were an artist,
wish i could paint the way i’m feeling
as a beautiful sunrise
or an unimaginable storm.
i wish i knew how to illustrate without using words...
words are not reliable.
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