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 Jul 2014 devare
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When I was a newborn, less than 4 days old, you bought as many stuffed toys as your car could fit and surrounded them around my crib, ignoring my grandmother who kept telling mom that newborns don't know how to look at objects.
I moved my eyes and looked at them.

When I was a toddler, you encouraged me to watch Beauty and the Beast and Aladdin and didn't want me to watch Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty because you "wanted your daughter to learn a lesson, not just waste time".

When I was 7 you took me everywhere with you and didn't mind me listening to your friends' political arguments. On our way home though you always told me "Don't grow up to be like them.  Don't let people lead you."
And I didn't. I pushed a girl because she wanted to be the group leader in our science project.

When I was 11 you started discussing books by Stephen Covey and made me listen to Zig Ziglar cassettes. "Don't blindly follow the crowd," you said. "Always raise your neck and look around. If you don't like where they're going, take another road."
And I did. Girls my age were giggling about boys and bras while my eyes were wide open and excited about all the facts I read from my science textbook.

When I got to middle school and got my eating disorder, I refused to eat the apple in algebra class so that I could take my quiz, and didn't mind my teacher calling you to pick me up for my "resistance".
I got in the car waiting for you to pat my back and tell me I did well for refusing to give in to her ultimatum. I waited for you to tell me that I didn't need help anyways. But the drive back home was silent.

When I was 14 and went to my brother's school to beat up the kid bullying him, you called. I thought you called to give me a pep talk, or give me some tips on how to break his nose. All you said was "stay in the car. Leave the beating for the boys". I came back home confused.

When I was 17 and told you about my goals, you said "When you're young, you have unrealistic dreams. You feel like flying from your positive energy and like you have the whole world in the palm of your hand. But you grow up and realize that you need to be realistic."
I opened my mouth but closed it right after remembering you telling me "Think before you speak. If the outcome of what you'll say is useful, say it. If it'll hurt people, don't." I don't think it would've been useful. What use would it be to scream in your face about how that 'unrealistic dream' was the only goal I had, the only distraction from suicide. What use would it be to tell you that I don't remember the last time I felt like I was about to burst from the positive energy that I had?

You taught me how to be different. You taught me to love math and science. You taught me to be my own person and not let people decide what I should do in my life. But what you forgot to do is teach me how to feel okay. You didn't teach me how to reply to people who tell me that I watch too many American shows and that I let go of our traditions because of my opinion on marriage. You didn't teach me how to not feel lonely as hell when it's 3 am and I'm spewing out everything I binged and wiping my tears away while my throat bleeds and the music is playing to cover up the sound of me choking on the last words I screamed at myself and the gasps of relief when I purge out all my feelings and lay on the floor feeling numb. You didn't teach me how to pretend to blend in when the girls my age would take boys' phone numbers and I'd ask them questions like "but how are you guys together now? You don't know each other's personalities. You only just met." You taught me how to be smart, educated Belle and rebellious, going-by-her-own-rules Jasmine..

Daddy, you taught me how to be my own person in a place where you're supposed to be everyone else's clone, and I am forever grateful.. But sometimes, just sometimes, I wish you had taught me how to pretend to be like Aurora or Snow White.
 Jul 2014 devare
BG Ibañez
Listening is relative.
Reading together is shallow.
Love is biased.
Reaching out is a myth.
Worship is noise.
Giving is a habit.
Church is a party.
Church is a half-way house.
Clapping is stepping on the cross.
Sitting is sin of omission.
Fellowship is exclusive.
The Cross is a decoration.

But God is still God.
Jesus
From Heaven or From Men?
This is out of my rage and hurt that I felt today. I know that some of the things there are heavy...but it really got me asking...are we here for earthly things...or God? Hope to feel some empathy :(
 Jul 2014 devare
Mikaila
I am
Eve.
It is my task
To sample the fruit,
To romance the serpent,
To
Fall.
It is my task
To corrupt.

I am
Eve.
It is my duty to be pure.
My burden
Is skin
Is shame
Is
Pleasure.
It is my charge
To be a symbol,
To be a statue--
Smooth, perfect marble
Cold and unmoldable.

But
My flesh
Gives
Under fingers.
My smoothness
Has heat.
Has breath.
Has
Blood.

I am
Eve.
It is my calling
To be a paradigm.
Still and quiet as a
Painting or mural
Which can be pointed to
And admired.
It is my role.
I am something
To aspire to.
Something to acquire.
Something to
Protect.

I am
Eve.
It is my destiny
To disappoint.
It is my fate
To fail.
It is my study
To ******.

I have been to trial
By power.
It is my crime
To burn the garden.
It is my obligation
To be
Deceived.

I am Eve.
And I am
Unprepared.
 Jul 2014 devare
WendyStarry Eyes
It used to be Grandma's yard now it's heaven


*SANCTUARY TO ME IS A PLACE OF PEACE WHERE I CAN BE FREE
 Jul 2014 devare
Stu Harley
the flight of
the soul
thus swims
through a
brook  and
through a meadow
then upstream
through a
bubbling universe
weaving through
other worlds
let heaven rest
her hands
upon the soul
 Jul 2014 devare
Victoria Johnson
How could you do this to me?
Time and time again,
I trust you once more,
And I fall for your lies.

You spread your rumors once,
To try and "get me right"
But I did not listen to you,
And kept him in my sights.

You spread your rumors twice,
No more playing nice,
You took your shot at me,
But he's still by my side.

You want what you can't have,
and I have what you don't,
You have thrown your grenades,
But within is just but smoke.

You think scaring me will work,
And you can try if you're so sure,
But I have what you cannot,
And now you're oh-so sore.

You want it for one reason,
And that reason is it's mine,
But I'm okay,
Go on your way,
Without you I feel fine.

Because I have something you don't,
And I'm not trying to get a rise,
Out of you,
Because you have something too,
And that's a toxic mouth of lies.
Ok, so the story behind this is that I made a friend at camp, a guy (I think I'll call him Jimmy here) who was a counselor, and went to the same church as one of the girls (I'll call her Mimi)  in my group of friends. I became close to Jimmy, because he learned my story, and I his, and they were so similar in a way that made us want to stay close to each other. We became accountable to one another, and so I stuck close to him physically and emotionally. Mimi pulled me aside one day, with a couple of my other friends, and they cornered me, and told me that they were going to stage an intervention, to "get me right" and keep me away from Jimmy, because he was a bad person. Had they listened to me, they would've known that everything they told me that he had done, were things I myself had done, that I knew he had done, and I knew we were both ashamed of doing. I didn't listen to them when they started spreading the rumors about his past around the camp, and we remained close throughout the weeks after camp ended. 3 weeks later, camp for the younger kids started, and my "friend" Mimi was a counselor. Now I wasn't a counselor this week, but I had a young dear friend (I'll call her Alison) who was like a baby sister to me, who was in Mimi's cabin as a camper. Now Alison was a shy girl, so she attaches to only a few people who she'll trust with her life. I told her to trust her counselors, Mimi, and another one of my friends who staged the intervention 3 weeks before. Now Mimi had no clue just how close Alison was to me, and did not watch what she said. She started telling all of the girls in her cabin that she liked a guy named Jimmy, and pointed him out to them. She told them that there were nasty rumors spread about him (not mentioning that she had spread the rumors) and that she didn't believe a word of them. She also told the girls that I had spent all of camp holding hands, and sneaking off with Jimmy, but none of it was Jimmy's fault, I had forced himself to, and pushed myself at him out of desperation. At this point my very shy friend Alison defended me, and while picking her up from camp, she let me know what had been going on. I have not, and will not confront this friend, I wrote this poem to try and let it go, although it still stings.
 Jul 2014 devare
Pride Ed
Scarlet lips done in roses. She kisses
the sun goodnight, leaving crimson
smears on the horizon.

She ties black orchids to her ebony
curls; copper-colored hands weaving
redolence into midnight gold.

The night holds her close. She caresses
the leaves and play in
shadows that move like smoke.

Her amber eyes catch moonlight like
glowing drops of honey. The tears from her
eyes always the sweetest.

Operatic tones held in drifting
petals; zephyr notes from her
soothing voice played by trees.

The sun lights a bonfire on the horizon;
she gently kisses the embers
and recedes like the tides.

Fire drains into blue light.
Orange seeds dot the sky. They look
on and see him kiss her in the morning.

— The End —