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 Jul 2014
Emma Pickwick
I'm not sure if we ever grow up.
We grow old in our bodies,
Maybe our minds mature too,
But I'm not sure if we ever grow up.

Our problems stay the same,
As they were at eighteen,
Maybe a little different,
But they still stay the same.

I'm low on cash,
I'm with someone already, but I still love someone else.
I'm being pulled in different directions,
I can't sort all my priorities,
I want to help everyone but I can't seem to help myself.

So, I'm not sure if we ever grow up,
Or if we just learn to deal with things,
Accept them for what they are.
I've noticed suddenly we forget our age,
Drop everything to follow our hearts,
Remind ourselves we only live this once,
And that we are  are getting old.
But perhaps, only our bodies are.
 Jul 2014
kavisha shah
Let me breathe
    For a while
     The cloying air of depression will choke me
       All too soon

Let me see through eyes of youth
    For a while
      They will be jaded and blurred
         All too soon

Let me touch this fragile beauty
    For a while
        These hands will be shaking
           All too soon

Let me dream
    For a while
       I'll wake up to reality
         All too soon

Let me hold this day to my heart
    For a while
      Tomorrow will hurtle down
         All too soon

Let me be
    For a while
      I'll have to join the crowd
         All too soon

Let me live
    For a while
       This short life will be over
          All too soon

Let me fail
    Just this once
       I'll be fighting for success
          All too soon

Let me...
             For a while..
 Jul 2014
pluie d'été
should i describe the way
roses
fall from your lips?

or the way the rain
stops
when you smile?

i can't decide
if your eyes
reflect a river
or the indian ocean

and i can't decide
in which
i would rather
drown

help me.
 Jun 2014
JWolfeB
Cover me like snow.
Sweep me into your pocket.
Loose me in your sunrise.
End these faulted comforts.

Pick me above head for a view.
Take me through the tunnel.
Break down the iceberg.
It's all fresh water.

Can I walk through the door?
Maybe have a seat?
Ill stay for as long as you ask.
Faint presence in a silent room.

Tread the streets lightly.
Make me a reality of adulation.
My ear loves the patterns of your breath.
Breathe into me.

Lets walk these paths through the forest.
The unknown ones.
Just like fresh steps in the sand.
We know they are washed away.

Get lost in focused tension.
This rock of solitude doesn't move.
Fallen tsunamis on soil.
Immovable occupied space.

These days will end out of storms.
in warmth and peacefulness.
Laid down soft pillow cases.
Accept this excitability.

Use your snow to make angels.
I'm not some lint in your pocket.
Keeping me warm summer.
Faults filled. Solved.
 Jun 2014
Joshua Haines
Dear Talia,


I found you.

Have you ever lain in your bed, after a night of restlessness and tears that tessellate on your face as you dream of a new place where crying isn't a thing, and where beautiful girls in dark dresses and black Keds are?

Have you ever looked at the stars and say to yourself, "Wow, some of these are dead, but the person I could love, and who could love me, may be looking at them and is still alive?"

When in our darkest places, when the hurt can't escape our bodies, when we think we'll never recover, have you ever thought of a person that you don't know yet, but you know that they're part of the answer? I think you're the person I've been thinking about.

Do you want to be my Alexa Chung?

Do you want to be the soft song in my room, as we slow dance on a carpet covered in removed clothes and removed fear?

Can I be the one to show you how you could save lives with your presence and that your presence is a present?

Can I be yours?

I want to wipe off the lipstick on your lips with my lips. I want to paint my face with your mauve and laugh about it in bed, over a bowl of ice cream and teeth showing as we smile. You're a nice dream. You're the only dream I have right now.

If I die, I want you to know that you are one the most beautiful people I've ever encountered.

"I'm so ****** whenever it comes to this final," were my first eloquent words to you as we trudged out of Cerbone's, and pushed double doors that opened the opportunity of ourselves to one another.

When I think about it, I could have said something a little less Sid Vicious-esque than, "I'm so ****** whenever it comes to this final," but you can be my Nancy Spungen, sans stabbing you in the stomach. I'd rather you be my Alexa Chung, though. Plus, Nancy Spungen was kind of *****, inside and out, and you're cleaner than a rain-kissed afternoon.  

Is this weird? I'm writing a letter to someone that I spent five and a half hours with in a cafe. Then again, I think it may be warranted.

We left his classroom and avoided bumping into each other until we were at The Daily Grind. You were beside me, attached to my hip, or was I attached to yours? Your hair is dark and has a quasi-bronze streak in one part. It's unique, like parental guidance. I think your eyes could break hearts and fix spider-webbed windshields after a collision with, "Are you okay," and, "I'm fine; I'm not going anywhere."

I find it unusual that whenever I was walking with you, that I felt calm. I haven't felt that way in a long time, when walking with someone. Then again, I've only been walking with my shadow, as of late. Usually, my nerves seep out of my pores and my hair spins in my scalp, as I breathe heavily and think about long ways to say goodbye and quick ways to die. But with you, the ocean softens the shore inside.  

Entering through the weathered door of The Daily Grind, you were still there. Ryan was there, but he doesn't know who I am. To be fair, no one really knows me. It's mutual, but I only know of him because of his questionable but interesting opinions. Actually, his opinions aren't that interesting, I just think his confidence is interesting. He reminds me of a bee stinging someone and confidently allowing the lower half of his body to be ripped out, as he bleeds out with insides hanging like cooked spaghetti noodles, with wings sputtering, as he talks about Bad Faith, with a smile on his face. Wow, that was a run-on sentence. That was the type of run-on sentence you could lose faith over.

I'm afraid that you may think that the way I perceive the world is weird. It's okay, though. I think I annoy my friends whenever I tell them about my problems, so I don't want to do that to you. I only tell them about a quarter of my problems, but you're the type of person I could tell everything to. It's not their faults, though. They have their own issues and lives to handle, as do you. I'd hate to be the cut in your mouth.

You ordered a ***** chai, I believe it's called. You're a regular. I'm only a regular to lonely nights. People know you and love you. I can see why, and I'm glad they do. You're the type of person that inspires books and to be yours would to be everything.

I ordered a Sierra Mist, because I'm about as cool as a pyromaniac's paradise. I like your eyebrows and your voice. We swept each other to a table by the window.

Your eyes are green. Your hair is black. And after meeting you, there's no turning back.

We were supposed to study, but I didn't come there to learn about Sartre. Existentialism did come into play as I tried to figure out if you could add purpose to my life. You did.

I think you were a little surprised that I didn't want to study, and I think you were even more surprised when I wanted to talk about you.

My God, Talia, I don't think you're aware of how beautiful you are.

We spoke for five hours and thirty minutes. I thought it'd only last half an hour. We bled ideas, stories, and questions. You told me the story about yourself. That was my favorite story.

After these five and a half hours, I had to go to therapy. You said it was four. This was the second or third time you checked your phone in almost six hours; I was flattered that I had your attention. The first time, out of probable nervousness, and the second time whenever your friend came in to talk to you.

I wanted to say so much more to you, but I bit my lip so I wouldn't and so my jaw wouldn't drop.

When you said it was four, I was sad. I didn't want to leave you, or for you to leave me.

Do blood and thoughts hold a race whenever we're afraid of losing someone?

We walked out of the cafe, and found the sidewalk. As we walked, I was wondering what was next. I didn't know what you'd think of my having a therapist. I'm not crazy, just scared.

I should have held your hand.

When we arrived to our destination, the lair, I told you that I had a therapist and an appointment. I asked you if you wanted to sit with me in the lobby. You said yes. I felt the words, "Thank you."

I don't think the elevator we stood in was big enough for our hearts, and I'd like to think that love seat was our sanctuary. You looked at me and understood, as we talked about our childhoods, our mothers, my father, and our worlds.

I wanted to kiss eternity into you.

My therapist came out, and I said bye. I got up, quickly. I would have said goodbye slower, but my heart was too fast. I'm supposed to see you tomorrow, so I can work on my goodbye.

If I die, I want you to know that you've given me the greatest six hours I could have asked for.

You deserve to be happy and I hope that you are, no matter with who. Despite all of that, I feel like you and I are supposed to happen.

I wrote a poem whenever I got home:

Move your hands with mine.
You're the current of the ocean.
I whisper your name, and I'm not afraid.
You are my emotion.

It's you, isn't it?


I want to be yours,

Josh
 Jun 2014
namii
Today will not be the same as yesterday as much as you'd like it to be
I finally learnt to remember the image of deserts etched across your knee
Yearning is a cheat; it weaves into clocks and watches pretending to be time
And I know that when it comes to us coincidence might resign

You let the city in your lungs collapse under this emptiness that’s your earthquake
I hope you refuse to smile if it isn't for my sake
I wish for the days to be gone that are you and your concrete frowns
For now I only wish to see you safe and sound
I will caress your white shirt soaked in mud
If you promise to stop jumping off buildings, staining the parapet with your blood

And so we depend on borrowed feelings
Don’t you think that remorse is time worth ticking?
For me, it skims across lined pages
And for you, it settles back into rusted battle cages

Truly, it’s another one of those questions your tongue holds no answer
I am familiar with the way desperation forces you to bite into inked rubber
I've been scratching spirals into wooden floorings
In an effort to take the pain out of waiting

And if you look up, the shadows are holding out their hands
You turn to me, your face contorted in the strain of trying to understand
I cannot bring myself to smile because confusion lies in everyone
They’re whispering your name; they’re pulling us into oblivion
 Jun 2014
Parker Vance
We could keep driving
And let the wind touch us to sleep
And find ourselves somewhere new and safe

We could lay here for months
Talking about faraway places
Dreaming of a life with no consequences

We could forget it all
Together in a scorching blaze
And cool down slowly and frozen solid together

I could let you know
About these feelings that I've been growing
Inside my ribcage and nurtured so tenderly

We won't
I won't
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