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 Oct 2017 Sandman
III
The holes in my lungs,
They peer around like beady eyes
Searching for some glimmer of light,

The air that flowed through them
Used to whistle when I breathed,
But now all they do is creak,

Clotted and dead,
Black and rotting,
I'm drowning from the inside out
 May 2017 Sandman
Francie Lynch
I chose ice-cream
Over yogurt;
Strawberry, vanilla or chocolate.
Each equally without prejudice
Attracted.
The fifteen year old server
Was kinda short;
The vanilla tub had about three scoops
Remaining,
Stacked hidden like frozen snow-*****
As in war games.
His task would have been daunting
And embarassing,
And I, a humanitarian
From higher education,
An altruist from St. Joseph's,
Could not allow it.

The chocolate tub
Was yet covered,
And the sobbing child's cries
Were hardening in my ears
As Dad tried to allay
His chocolate tears,
Applying the five second rule.
I am an empath
By nature and poetry,
So, turning from chocolate,
Left me strawberrry.
Triple scoop too.
I believe
You thought through
Your choices
Like flavors of ice-cream.
Being imaginative,
I do.
 May 2017 Sandman
WordWerks
my clear cookie jar
filled with cutout men,
my chocolate friends,
moons and stars
 May 2017 Sandman
Ally
The Countdown
 May 2017 Sandman
Ally
The countdown has ended
Is set to zero.
Those 50 days
over.

Like the days of freshman year
when you sat nervously in class
waiting for the teacher to call on you.
Or to see your boyfriend after school.
Will he kiss you tonight?

Or like sophomore year
when the nights seemed so long
and the days were wars
and every ounce of you
was waiting for an end.
The stinging keeps you awake
but it also keeps you alive.

The days are over
done, gone,
like in junior year
when you found yourself.
It was like being reborn,
beautiful and full of joy.

But now those are just memories.
In those days,
you forgot to appreciate
the smiles of those
you never really knew.
And you forgot to let go of the bad
and to love your mom.

You didn't memorize the sound
of the cheering crowd at games.
You never said hi
to the cute old people in the front of the school.
You never visited past teachers.
Maybe you never even thanked them.

And now the time is gone.
You walked across the stage months ago
and are in the car to drive 5 hours away
to your new start,
your new countdown.
 Mar 2017 Sandman
JP
Lessons
 Mar 2017 Sandman
JP
In life
so much competition
few won
many lost
But
an understanding
my failures were protected
by success...
 Mar 2017 Sandman
Miranda
I've learned that Time is only the indication of one thing: Time.
It determines the seconds, minutes, hours as they pass
But it can't determine the rate at which a person falls.

First sight;

first smell;

first touch
,
Important factors in the drop.

First laugh;

first kiss;

first hug,

Time doesn't get to determine how quickly he learns to make your heart stop.

I've always had these rules because Time told me they were right.

"Can't eat until that time."

"Can't shower until this time."

Can't give my heart away to a man after 28 days
Because Time claims, 'Too soon.'

But Time doesn't see the details.
It can't stop it's ticker, pause,
and see the way his hands make your body quiver.
No,
time doesn't get to take a break
to feel the way his eyes gaze at you
as if he has never seen anything more beautiful.
And time can't feel the breath your lungs take
at the simple sight of him.

I've always had these rules because Time told me they were necessary.
And when he told me of the love he felt after 21 days,
I looked to time who yelled,
"Too soon, too soon, too soon, he can't possibly feel that now."
But then I look at him
and I can see the way he looks at me.
I get to feel the gentleness of his touch
and the intensity of his kiss.
Time can only pass.
And I've realized that time will pass,
whether you let yourself fall too soon
or if you allow the passing minutes
to inform you of when it's okay to start loving someone.
Time can only indicate the time.
Time counts the seconds.
But time does not get to tell me when it's okay to feel anymore.
 Mar 2017 Sandman
wren cole
so the question is
will you miss me
and all the mess i make?
i know i expect too much.
i really wished for the warmest of welcomes.
i leave
with
the most bittersweet of goodbyes
knowing not
if i'll return,
and if i do
if it will matter?
there sits that question-
will you miss me,
or did my return
destroy the nostalgia:
the thin thread
connecting you and me.
we are not magic
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