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static voices through the speaker
our monitors are beacons
guiding us through schooldays to each and every weekend
hack smoke
crack jokes
art room artifice & insubordination
I'll retrogress
Written in November of 2018
Ali
A few streets from laughing fits
pine wood guidance's
park land Midas's
hills consume hours
as insects do our blood
parents expect you home
but I'll stay at the lots
Written in January of 2019
maybe some day
we’ll get the courage to tell the people we love
how we feel
but that day is not today
still-
there’s this danger
that tomorrow may never come
that there are too many things
we leave on the side
and save for a rainy day
that we push onto a shelf
and bookmark for later
and the words never come pouring out
but stay quiet and hidden in the dark
and maybe it’s for the best
but then we never realize
that these words could have meant something
to someone
that maybe they could’ve changed one thing
a little thing
that meant a whole lot
that maybe they just needed
a little push
an ounce of support
a single word
to lift the load day by day
and maybe we should have taken the words off the shelf
and given them away day by day
left little bits and pieces
on tabletops and car windows
on seat cushions and blankets
on television screens and corkboards
on billboards on the way to work
and traffic signs on the way home
on arms and hands and cheeks and chests
things that accumulated day by day
and made someone feel a little less heavy
and a whole lot more loved
but the truth is
every day goes from hours till dark
to minutes
to seconds
to moments that drift away and slip off our fingers
and before we know it
the sun has set
the lights have gone out
the birds have gone to sleep
and the moment has past
“there’s always tomorrow”
we say
but what if the load gets too heavy?
what if it breaks their back?
what if everything comes crashing down a little too soon
and it won’t take a little word to fix it?
what if you open up the jar on the shelf
and find that the words you’ve saved up
are no longer enough?
what then?
what then
What you are feeling is not love
Love is not this envy coursing through your veins turning your skin green.
No,
Love is the skeletons that climbed out your closet, content with being seen
It’s A Still of the best moments  
Still alive when she’s dead
Still, in a hurricane of emotions, that reside in your head

Love is not her hair, her *******, soft lips or strawberry scent
Not the contour of her body;
It's porcelain touch
Nor the way her voice fades at the end of a sentence
Instead, it’s in the absence
In the things you can’t sense, but still feel
In The parts of her that are least physical but most real

Love is not the way fears became a blindfold
That hid you from the Truth
Torn from a blanket of jealousy
Covering you up,
Keeping you bitter

Rather,
Love is the tear-stains on your jacket shoulder
The warm embrace
The eye of the storm.
She kept that jacket
And Maybe
Just Maybe
She’s wrapped herself in it
And realized that:
Love is the only reason you didn’t want to leave her
And the exact reason
Why you did
Written in July of 2017

— The End —