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 Jul 2015
Rachel Rose Oommen
What I want is a traveller.
No, not even a traveller who goes the further distance, for the longest time.
Just one who will be willing to cover miles and spend endless seconds with me.
What I want is a thinker.
No not even the deepest or the wildest of spectrum.
Just one who’ll broaden mine.
What I want is a fighter.
No not even the strongest, toughest or best at battle.
Just one day who won’t allow me to forget the purpose of fighting.
What I want is a believer.
But no, not one of little.
But one who’ll crack perspectives, defy gravity, induce love, dance in storms and build dams in deserts.
To man I'm hoping I'll end up, waking up to every morning.
 Jul 2015
Emily Von Shultz
Grab me by the stem and hold on tight,
'til my thorns pierce your skin.
For a brief moment,
I will feel the essence of you,
and, darling, you'll feel me,
until you throw me down from the pain and clean off your hand.

Hands heal fast,
but your blood is still on my thorns.



I know that I scare you now,
but I just want someone to hold me.
 Jul 2015
Emily Von Shultz
I drive by the little green cottage,
barely visible from the street.
The property that has come to represent
love,
childhood,
adolescence,
and innocence lost.


I know that I can't go and knock on the door,
but I drive by again,
hoping to see a light on in the window
and to send some comfort to the little girl that used to live there.


She is sleeping there somewhere,
alone, afraid, and untucked...
but it won't be that way forever, darling,
I swear.
Hiraeth (n.) - a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past.
 Jul 2015
andrea
In the Webster dictionary beauty is defined as:
"The quality of being physically attractive"
And it never specifies what attractive is...who gets to decide it
but...
The screens, the magazines, they all scream
In high definition their definition of "beauty"

Beauty is itty bitty waists and walking twigs
negative spaces between legs that subtract another's value
if the gap is not there
It is lipstick and pale pink blush on rearranged faces
like children playing dress up
or a giant game of make-believe we are made to believe
that something is wrong with the way we look
And we have been directed well
the cruel criticism oozing out of over-injected lips
typed out with freshly manicured tips
"she has weird *****" "you have a weird nose" "lay off the cookies"
we read off the scripts, taking turns playing the villain and the victim
and there are no heroes here
There are no standing ovations, no thunderous claps await

Is anyone really watching?
                                                  Does anyone really see?

With pain hardened eyes we glare
we compare compare compare
ourselves to the models, the barbie dolls, the flawless magazines
our friends, our sisters, strangers on the street
and in our rooms before the mirror
our reflection the bearer of bad news
"you are not the fairest of them all"

will we ever be?
So much trial for so much error
we are worn thin and even so
even so we are told to lose a few
And we run, endlessly
in the hopes that we may be worth something


If only we would realize that beauty is a noun, a word created by man
between beaten and become
If we win this race we will have beaten the monster society has become
and see
that we are all worth more than words                      
                                                                ­ **we are flying off the page
June 8th
This was a spoken word poem I did for an english class concerning the beauty myth. It's very lengthy, but I am very passionate about this injustice.
 Jul 2015
Emily Von Shultz
Midnight cravings.

I can't shake the ache
to have you near me again.

Take me to a private place
where we can practice passion
without fear.

Let's take off our clothes in the wilderness.
I'll kiss you,
and I'll keep kissing you until you open for me
the way a morning glory opens for a sunbeam.
I will gaze upon the beauty of your bare soul,
and you will feel the love I have for you shine on you from all angles.

I will always want you this way,
don't ever forget that.

Touch me,
tell me softly through your teeth that you want it rough,
and writhe with me in the dark
until you find your release.
Just know that when the sun really does come up,
I must leave.
 Jul 2015
maxine
Don’t compare yourself to others. Compare yourself to the person you were yesterday.
 Jul 2015
Musfiq us shaleheen
.
~~
One day you were waiting
your soul singing,
behind an open window,
in front of a large meadow

For the days long
there you made a love song
that blew me so long
grew our love so strong

where never seen any sad,
even days were not at all bad

If I did a little late
that I never forget,
sometimes you made a huff
but between us there was no gap

..
O, the days have gone
If I do not make any wrong
yet the little robin sings the spring's song,
which I bought through my lifelong

But your silhouette,
doesn't go a little far off yet

With a mystic fate
there a pair of pigeons set
yet trying to mate
just before the last breath
.
..
~~
@Musfiq us shaleheen
 Jul 2015
Cath Williams
I didn't cry. I couldn't.
I thought I was being strong. Crying isn't weakness though.
I thought I was doing it for the family. I wasn't helping nor hindering anyone.
I made myself ill out of pride. You were diseased.
Cancer victims don't suffer alone. Their loved ones suffer with them.
We don't suffer with pain, no. We suffer with the anxiety of the wish for health or relief.
Never knowing what would come. Always on tenterhooks.
That's just the way life works. Until you left.
Now you've left us. To suffer without you is almost harder.
It's not the death that's tough. It's the living that comes after.
In simple terms, there are three stages. For us watching the victims.
The first. Living a nearly normal life, nothing's wrong.
The second. Accepting the cancer and learning to live with you in pain.
The third. Living without you.
Cancer is mean. Cancer is selfish.
Cancer kills without a cause. Cancer.
 Jul 2015
Rob Rutledge
Find solace in solitude,
There is no shame in that.
We are unknown to ourselves
An ocean to which we delve.
Scarcely coming up for air,
Entangled in fathoms
Whirlpools of despair.
Waves of introspection
Spare us shallow reefs,
Yet cast us into darkness
And the horrors of the deep.
 Jul 2015
N Paul
I want to write it all; all of it. Every last word, sentence, phrase, poem, story, tale, feeling, joke, song, garbled hunk of nonsense streaming from my mouth hole like from a tap until the whole world drowns in just what I want to say; to let them know that expression is here, in my mind, in theirs, whispering in the trees outside, singing from every atom that can bump and grind and make things feel or see or sigh.

I want to sit within friends late in the night heads bobbing nod nod nodding as we agree or disagree or pedigree our intellect as we refine the phrases that make us sound like we know. Cos when you sound like you know, that's when you get heard, and if anyone's gonna get heard, ain't no one better nor worse than us. Cos nobody really knows; no Oxbridge don could ever write the wind, measure my kiss on my darlin’s skin, capture what the rosy points of her cheeks do to my brain, my body, my soul, my Attachment to this world.

So Hear me, O merry gentlemen! For I am alive and feeling and that is all the PhD I need.- If only you could see what’s dancing around in my skull... but you don’t have to! Use your own ivory mug! Really stop and think and you’ll see more than in a million poems roar within an eyeblink. Know it and feel it and see it all; the whole stupid shining racing roaring- untameable- restlessness of it all! Put down your pen and paper and rush out in the air and rejoice truly in the warm company of lovers and friends, in the sweet hum of guitar strings and in the savage itch of the insect's bite. In loneliness and mourning. In boredom and steady working with clever hands. And love, never stop loving, or hating, or appreciating, or caring, or crying, as long as you are feeling. For sometimes it seems we should always be in pain from one thing or another, yet mostly from the bubbling exasperation of positive go-get-em ***** for life.

For we read this clunky tongue of ours and say it’s what should be but there is more! For life through all its prisms can impress upon your vision a beauty neverending, yet to sense it quivering within a page is a spectacular sight indeed. So let’s leave the rigid, the impersonal, the stymied words behind and let's form a new expression, devoid of convention, one that cries joyous face-first directly into our souls!

So, Cry, onwards! And let's weave this tender tongue of ours, golden! Let's stack this world full of less-than-sane streams of speech tangled images driving shards of true experience into each other’s minds, until we drop dead deep in our bones from exuberant exhaustion. Let’s follow Kerouac to the grave; cheering, and keeling and full of tender feeling and find a meaning in words that can transcend into being. Let’s **** and watch and listen and do and learn and laugh and notice laughter and mark it for the concentrated joy that it is. Let’s sit quietly and attend to those things around us and ruminate without ever forgetting our surrounding- which include, of course, the ever flipping ever spinning and unwinding tapestry of our mind and others'.

Let’s find joy, or the maker, or whatever, same-meaning trap clap-trap of a name he (or she) has in your sticks, in what we can touch and feel and see, and inside those we know and those we don’t. Let’s make language a human thing that radiates warmth for all, and bridges us to those around us so that none may feel alone or scared unless they long to for glorious masochism, or curiousness, or any things they so do please. Let us travel, and dance, and loose hope, and find it, and live it.

And write tenderness into this world.
 Jul 2015
Nicole Dawn
Why is it
That the biggest hearts
Are emptied the fastest?

And the brightest souls
Are blackened
The quickest?
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