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 May 2014
Mr Bigglesworth
This bull's horns are oily
Alas my hands just slip
How am I to seize the day
If I cannot get a grip
 May 2014
purple orchid
Blood shot eyes,
drunk with regrets infused
with cheap beer,
Laughing at our own stupidity
As we fall, stumble
and pick each other up,
only to wobble again
We'll blissfully endure the
nausea
and throbbing headaches cause we've been through
much much worse,
Together.

Knowing us,
we'll probably end up on
some rooftop at 3 in the
morn,
In a drunken haze
counting the stars one by one,
confessing our well-kept
secrets,
and vomiting all the bile that
life fed us

Sure with heads spinning,
and the blurry vision
accompanied by endless
'little room' visits
we'll say
'Never again',
Only to turn it around with
another round

When misery finds us,
Don't fret
I'll hold the cracked mirror
to your face, you do the same
And we'll find humor in our imperfections
And there, we'll dance to our temporary happiness

When they dare tell us
'You're too young to be empty',
We'll look at them
Look at us
And burst into laughter
I'll be here,
through drunken nights
and sober days,
Always.
 May 2014
Eliana
Snapdragons are one of those
flowers that wilt in springtime, not
because there is
anything wrong, it's just
that their season is over.

I wonder whether
snapdragons ever fall
in love with the hawthorns,
though I really shouldn't
have to.

I know all too well the
feeling of having to love
someone perennially as
you both alternate dying,
for lack of rain,
for want of sun.
 May 2014
r
She hides her smile
behind black lipstick.
Her voice is low
and in between.
She smells of loneliness
and cigarettes.
She sings for me
when she is high.

She gets me higher
than I can go.
She takes me low
and in between.
Her heart's on fire
when she sings.
Her voice is smokey,
full of pain.

She sings of loneliness
and broken dreams.
Her dance is low
and in between.
She gets me high
and lets me down.
She kisses me
with black lipstick.

r ~ 4/29/14
\•/\  
   |        
  /\
 May 2014
g
In 2005 The Piano Man was found wandering the streets of Sheerness in a soaking wet suit and tie
he didn't say a word.
When presented with pad and pen he simply drew a grand piano.
His nurses sat him in front of a beat up old upright
he played for four hours straight;
for four months his hands were the only things to break his silence.

Alexandre Dumas said "man will never be perfect until he learns to create and destroy."
Do you ever think about how Beethoven hacked the legs off his piano so he could feel the sounds he couldn't hear in his head, through his chest?
And Van Gogh heard the sounds his paintings made but kept going until his sanity
was just a memory floating on a distant river under a tired Milky Way.
And you see, like a Gaelic folk song blindness runs red through my family,
so I know it's not much but I'm here, still trying to mould my hands to say the right form of 'I love you'.

And did you know that the human heart beats over 30 million times a year, but we still have a hard time keeping our feet on the ground?
And did you know that the act of breaking in a horse is actually the act of breaking it's back?
Like we can't sit without sitting on broken things.
And did you know that every time a mobile phone sends out a GPS signal a bee loses it's way home, and every bee that doesn't reach it's hive dies?

So on nights when your pulse matches the beat of my favourite song
you don't have to wonder if it's me matching the syncopation of your silence --
and I wonder if you ever found what you were looking for.
And I wonder if you realise that on days you're not here I roll up my sleeves,
count the beats without you,
sit on the backseat and miss you.
And somewhere The Piano Man rolls up his sleeves
creates the Big Bang under his fingertips.
And in 2005 on an April morning in Sheerness, a suited piano man walks straight into the ocean,
begs the current to take him.

I send you a message
a bee loses it's way home.
I send you another
another bee dies.
My chest cavity is a bumble bee crypt,
my tongue a honeyed graveyard.

Another message.
The Big Bang.
The hive.
A suit.
That ocean.
Another back is broken.
Another message is sent.
I fear I am more honeycomb than heart.

To create is to destroy. To destroy is to succeed.
And would you just look at what these piano hands have finally done.
Grace beadle 2014
 Apr 2014
Mikaila
We are still
Young
We are so ******* young.
Life is racing by
And it feels like we must be finished
Growing up
But it’s not true.
We are so young.
I am unfinished.
Hindsight is 20/20
But darling
I spent so much time reading
The poetry of your skin
That I’m nearsighted now-
I see only you, larger than life
Because you’re so **** close
And
When I look forward I see only hazy shapes
And things to trip over.
You know me better than anyone
But
I wish I could tell you
That that’s not saying much.
I wish I could tell you that I’m sick
Wish I had blood to show you,
Or skin and bones proof,
Wish I had an X-ray or a doctor’s script
To prove to you that I have lost control
But
I’m sick in a way that you can’t see.
You only see the shadow of it
And I get to look at its face
Days in and out-
Its face is what I imagine they were afraid
To write in the bible
About the devil
And it’s lookin
Right at me
All the time
And when you touch me it sinks its teeth in
Because it wants my joy to be its venom
Instead.
I wish I could show you
That if my outside matched my inside
I’d be in the ICU
Full of little clear tubes
Breathing through a soft engine.
I wish I could tell you
It’s not your job to find a cure
For my mind
That
I just want your love
I just want you
Here.
I don’t wanna look at that face
Days in and out
Without your hand in mine
To steady me.
Your fingers feel like the moment right after your chair tips
And you thought you’d fall but you didn't.
They feel like
“Thank god.”
And I don’t know how to ask you
To be my chemo buddy
As I drip acid into my ink veins
And try to heal from a disease that will never **** me
But will always be about to.
It’s hard to heal
When your treatment is heavy volumes of war instead of peace
And I don’t know what I’m doing.
Please believe me that when I speak
Nothing is a lie
That I never know if my demons will pull my puppet strings
And make me a hypocrite
And then retreat like shadows to let me take the rap
Alone.
I wish I could show you
The IV that pumps insults into my blood
Things I’ve seen in people’s eyes
In yours
Things I’ve heard fall- surprise!- from my lips
Like poison dripping from fangs I didn’t know I had.
I wonder
If a snake bites itself
Does it die of its own venom?
It sort of feels
Like that.
Please believe me
That I don’t want to spill my secrets to you
Like someone sliced my stomach open
And let me bleed them out everywhere
Please believe
That I am sick
And I am not faking
And I am not trying
To hurt you
Or lie to you
I am only trying
To be.
I’m just trying to be
And it’s a hell of a lot harder
Than it looks.
 Apr 2014
hkr
i didn't donate blood today. i could've, but i didn't. my friends did. all day, people talked about the donors like they were heroes. we watched a video about donating, about a little girl whose live was saved thanks to a donation. my friends' blood will save lives. but i didn't donate today, because my blood is thick with misguided bits of you and to burden someone else with that would be to condemn them, too, to hell.+
i'm feeling red today.
 Apr 2014
Mikaila
They told me to cry
However I could
And I said your name into the floor
I'm sorry
I'm sorry
I'm sorry
You have many names
To me
And I said that one to the smooth wooden boards
Against my cheek.
I'm sorry
Is what I call you
At night before I go to sleep
And when I wake up in the morning.
All of your names can pull tears from me
But that one
Works the best.
Sometimes you are god
And sometimes you are lover
And sometimes you are the universe
In its vastness
Brighter than all the stars
But always I can call you
I'm sorry
And know that you will hear me.
I'm sorry
I'm sorry
I'm sorry
Sign your name into my ribs
So that it may touch every breath I take.
They asked me to cry
And I cried.
And when I rose
Your name sank through my chest and into my stomach
Like a stone
And it is still there,
Cool and unyielding
But solid.
 Apr 2014
Mikaila
Spin me a web of lies and fear and cruelty
Stick me fast inside
And I will turn it to gold from the center
On out.
It is my gift.
I will have faith in you
That puts churches to ruin.
I will love you
In a way that shames mothers.
I will light you up
So bright it pales the sun.
You have seen waves of my consuming passion dash themselves upon the sharp rocks of my soul
But you have not seen me alight.
It is my gift.
I make things lovely.
I make them matter.
I make them
Breathtaking.
With my eyes
I make the world your temple.
I will have the kind of faith in you
That puts churches to ruin.
 Apr 2014
Amanda
And it is midnight again.
We will write the date different.
Breakfast will be slightly changed,
hair will be terribly ruffled on one day,
then fine on the next.

Our souls may sometimes be coloured blue,
for now,
it's mellow sunshine melded with silent notes of wistfulness.

The handful of stars dotting across the grey-navy blue sky will sometimes become an infinite sprinkle.

Rain.
Sun.
Raindrops & damp hair.
Sunshine dancing across our collarbones.

Closed eyelids, but unclosed heart.

Tired soul but it keeps say a quiet 'No' to
sleep.

Lovely days flit in between the not-so-good ones.

And it is twelve at night again.
My white heart painted the loveliest red has been
trying & trying
to say
'Hello' or was it.. goodbye
to
yours

*again.
Hello there! How is your day going, lovely?
x
 Apr 2014
rained-on parade
It's hard to explain
how this heart feels.
Like laughter lost in echo
and your warm touch
now long gone cold.

Anxious, breathless;
something lost I need
so desperately found.

Empty perhaps.
Abandoned like houses,
broken like silence.

These hands can't reach as far
as where you lay.
Somehow I feel like I burn at both ends;
the flames now reaching their meeting place.

But it's always better to burn out
than to fade away.
Conversations.
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