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 Oct 2014
Kelsey
Somewhere there is a nurse putting clean sheets on what was once someone's death bed. Somewhere there is a police officer laying awake at two in the morning contemplating breaking his thumbs so he won't have to pull another trigger. Somewhere there is a body bag taking the shape of a person. Somewhere a warden has accidentally called a prisoner by their first name. Somewhere there is a man getting ready to pay for his glass of whiskey, his '1 year' AA token falls out of his wallet onto the bar counter. Somewhere the glass is completely empty, somewhere it's overflowing. Somewhere a therapist sitting in an empty session reading the local newspaper's obituary section wondering what she could've done. Somewhere a bullet has fallen in love with a heart, giving a whole new meaning to the 'kiss of death'. Somewhere the girl that never speaks is raising her hand but immediately putting it back down after the sound of her classmates' laughter bounces back and forth from the back of her mind to the front. Somewhere the silence at the dinner table is making a dent in a child's suit of armor. Somewhere a 70 year old man starts skipping instead of walking, he stops taking his medication. Somewhere there is a mother too drunk to sign her daughter's permission slip. Somewhere a man has stolen all of the flowers from a grave, so he can somehow feel as though he's  being missed. Somewhere a child is asked what she wants to be when she grows up, she realizes ''myself'' isn't a good enough answer. Somewhere a mirror has been mistaken for a stranger. Somewhere someone is being loved by another person the only way they know how to love; whether it's through kisses, bruises, sleeping too closely to the other, or fifteen missed calls. Somewhere a man is falling in love with the automated voice inside of a voice mail because at least she will listen to him. Somewhere a 911 operator is walking into her house, hearing screams that aren't actually there. Somewhere these short stories are being broadcasted on the news,  printed in the paper, whispered to a friend, or rotting in the back of someone's head. Somewhere I am whispering all of these things to a silent room full of people, none of them look up.
 Mar 2014
ak
why, I wonder, have I become so fragile
when I used to be so strong

why, I wonder, do I see the world as if everyone is against me
when I can break through and see that they are not

why, I wonder, does my heart beat so fast and terror rushes through my veins for seemingly no reason at all
when there is nothing to be afraid of

why, I wonder, can I find so many flaws within myself
which were not there before

And with that I fell asleep
 Mar 2014
Gwen Taylor
you've gotten inside of me,

crawled through the cracks in my skin

and

made your home in my veins



every now and then

you crawl through the cuts on my body

and

talk to me



other times you

make your way into my mind

and

speak to me there
© All Rights Reserved
 Mar 2014
Winston Lee
I think I'm torn between who I was and who I want to be.
Trapped in purgatory just behind the exit.
I'm stuck in a room with no windows, only doors, none of which I have the keys too.
Somedays I'm so close to getting through one of them. Maybe the key is hidden under a door mat in someone else's subconscious or maybe just beneath my feet.
 Mar 2014
mg
the pain
is now cutting
me
so deeply
i can't think
and i have
to be strong
for the ones
who need
me
to be strong
i have to put on this mask
a mask
with smiles
a mask that says
"No, she's happy, don't worry.
The scars on her wrists don't exist."
but frankly
i can't even breathe
or handle
this anymore.

i'm done.

m.g.
 Mar 2014
aphrodite
You drink about it.
       You smoke about it.
              You **** about it.
                      You cut about it.
                           You sleep about it.
                                 You stopped sleeping about it
                                       You stopped eating about it.
                                            You keep eating about it.
                                                You swallow pills about it.
                                                      You punch walls about it.
                                                           You kick cans about it.
                                                             ­   You spit about it.
                                                             ­        You write about it.
                                                             ­          You cry about it.

                                                            ­            But you won't talk about it.

                                                            ­ You won't pray about it.
                                                      You won't seek help about it.
                                                 You won't reach out about it.
                                            You won't tell your father about it.
                                      You won't tell your lover about it.
                                  You won't meditate about it.
                           You won't medicate about it.
                    You won't preach about it.
             You won't advocate about it.

       You're killing yourself over it,
but perhaps it's time you start saving yourself from it.
What is your "it"?
I've bolded what I find to be healthier alternatives for coping, opposed to the common and harmful ways of coping that are italicized.
This poem is very personal & I hope you learn to cope the best way you can.
**
 Mar 2014
Fresh Prince
I look at her and see anger
A wall built up screaming Danger

She draws me in and pushes me away
But when we hug there's nothing to say

It's like a never awakening slumber
I try not to let her bury me 6 feet under

But her pain and hatred makes me wonder
Why someone would hurt a beautiful dove?

One who used to be filled with happiness and so much love
But I can feel her sadness coming. Makes me cry

Her hate sends men running for their lives

What makes me want her so much?

Simply just the softness of her touch.
 Mar 2014
Fresh Prince
My sensible heart is pulsating with love,
It is a Heart overflowing with tears,
This heart that slept the beauty sleep,
This heart that dived in an abyss that's too deep,
This heart that still loves,
Still hopes, Still dreams
To one day fix hers,
and sew up the seams,
My sensible heart waits,
For her to return,
My sensible heart hopes,
That her's will learn.
 Mar 2014
jerard gartlin
i'm sorry you find it necessary
to put other people's body parts
inside your mouth
like you're some teething mental infant,
or maybe you're trying to take the place
of the baby we're pretending never happened…
…****.  i need a moment. .. …. …


ok.
anyway,
******* got you into this
so you think ******* will get you out?
it's ******* funny i have to flee the ******* country
to get free from your fingers' guilty grip
on a sad mind that can't ******* forgive himself,
on a mind muddied with so many mistakes
i get light-headed every ******* morning trying to decide
which regret to let ruin my day today,
but thank god you've always been there to remind me.
i thank that great guy in the sky
that you're always there
willing & ready
to rub it in.
maybe i just loved you too much,
i guess,
& you loved me just enough
so i'd still do favors for you
& god isn't that what Shakespeare was talking about?
we were rarely a well-written romance
but we ******* NAILED tragedy.
& i told you that first night
as we talked over
some movie i didn't care about
in some language i'll never learn,
that i ******* hated musicals….well
you must've read my subtitles
because you still sing inside my head sometimes.

— The End —