dance
d                                             e
    a                    c
             n
                   w i t h
                         me
with          me
           be
cause
           no
one
           should
dance
           alone

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10:03 P.M.
Notification: You have one unread message:
from Andrea

"i love you ♥"

10:03 P.M.
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Battery: 100%

If you're a good writer
I've probably already fallen
in love with your words
if you make good music
you most likely own
a part of my soul
undoubtedly
if when you message me
you use proper grammer
punctuation
and complete sentences
there's no denying
I take you seriously
something in the way you word things
the way that each consonant sings
as I breathe in the simple things
you say to me

I don’t like tuna fish.

I don't like it the way
I don't  like
men who study
little girls

I don't like it the way
I don't like
bullies
and
rich people
who won't share
or poor
people who are
cruel to
their own kind
because they have
to put their
pain somewhere.

I don’t like tuna fish
because my mother
told me, "eat it--
it's good for you" the way
she insisted I accept
the rest of
her distasteful
lies.

I dont like how the taste
of canned tuna finds
its way back into
my mouth long
after its been swallowed  
and **** out.

It reminds me of the
unbearable
that I thought I survived--
that I thought I left behind
but didn't.

By:  Evelyn Augusto

Five seconds
The amount of time it takes for you to hide the way you feel
Five seconds
How long it takes for me to believe your feelings are real
Six seconds
Hiding the feelings that you just let slip through
Because after those five seconds are up
You leave me feeling hopelessly confused
And I’ll admit that ever since,
My mind hasn’t stopped thinking
About you.
[That’s what a mere five seconds will do.]

i see her standing there -
and i'm wondering when she
will come inside.

it's below forty outside -
and the tears have frozen to her cheeks
and i can tell that she's becoming numb.

when will she come inside?
i wish she would -
so that i may wrap a blanket around her shoulders
and give her something hot to drink
and let the tears melt down her face.

i wish she would come inside.
but her and i both know better,
than to believe that we have any control -

over
this.
this.
this.
these feelings, i should say.

she'll come back inside -
when the feelings pass
when it's safe again
when i'm me again
when the world is righted on its axis.

here is a cup of fog
mix it well
with melancholy
spoon in a bit
of saccharine ---
indigestible sentiment ---
and blend it all
together

take this tablespoon of
creative fire
douse it with
unrelenting tears
repress it into a ball
then let it stand,
covered,
that the yeast of
sorrow may bloom

when doubled,
punch it down to
bloom again

punch
bloom
punch
bloom

work the dough of Life
to death
form it into a blob
put it into the cold fire of the ego’s
oven
leave it there to burn away
to nothing edible

serve it in hard chunks
on delicate china
and --- wait
trust that the teaspoon of
Love added at the last minute
will be enough


c. 2017 Roberta Compton Rainwater