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 May 2013 Emerald Proctor
Ugo
Night is for the hours
Cowards,
Let a man of God speak or night
Will continue to burn flowers

It's been said napkins are the greatest currency
For it holds the food spittle of man
Like how ambulances sit waiting
To clean up after misfortunes
And make fortunes for the fortun-
Who Ate paragraphs of spider webs
And patted weaves like black men seating at the back of the limited luxurious Q46 bus nodding heads to the noise of Toyota cameras they couldn't afford in the land where they spend $300 million to part the seas for summer entertainment
While they only spent $40 on California cuteness and walked on water with 13 Jesus' and ate at the bottom of the sea with only three tokes from the plastic bag

Let a man of God speak or night
Will continue to burn flowers
For we graduated from 30 hot nights of mathematics
Only to find that the future will always be white and in the *******
 May 2013 Emerald Proctor
Marian
In a catty mood
I'm thinking about kittens
And all their nine lives

*~Marian~
 May 2013 Emerald Proctor
JM
Today I killed
the last piece
of love
inside me.

I fed it poison
and watched it
convulse and die
as the cicadas rotated
shifts in my ears.

Yesterday a blind woman
touched my face
as I carried her through
the desert to
the Holy Lake in the mountains.
She touched my face
and asked me to put her down;
she no longer wanted my help
because she knew my
nothing was greater than hers.

Tonight I drink the shadows
of your name, heavy with
time.
 Apr 2013 Emerald Proctor
Reece
I shift swiftly from the window sill
Fearless after forlorn grievances
Hey Taylor you have me believin'
Failed love stories, you're just teasin'

Eighteen years and I reached maturity
Listened to your ballads, felt amorous
I can't ask that you'll write me a song
I must confess, I think of you all day long

I want you to see me, white horse mounted
Rescue you from a life rebounding
I raise a hand and pray to the lord
But you're the reason for the teardrops on my keyboard

Why can't you see... me?
Are we meant to be?
I would hold your hand,
let your soul fly free.
 Apr 2013 Emerald Proctor
kylie
i. this poem is not about that thursday afternoon
you spent holding me in your arms, swaying
back and forth in the middle of your bedroom
because i mentioned that no one understood me
and you told me you liked my dark hair and
my olive skin and the fact that i wrote poems about
confused teenagers in love and that i had a heart
that was just as confused as yours was

ii. we whispered sweet nothings to each other and
kissed under your navy blue duvet for two years
and the reason i still cry over that is because
you knew how much i detested dancing and that
i hated when my peas touched my potatoes and
that i never went to bed before two in the morning,
but you never learned that i am an iceberg

iii. i asked you to describe me and you failed
to mention that i'm afraid of the dark because
it reminds me of a sky without stars and that
my favorite song is skinny love by bon iver
because it reminds me of the relationship that
i shared with you and you never understood
why i liked sad things (it's because i like the
way rainy days and sleepless nights make
me feel something worth writing about)

iv. this poem is not about love or heartbreak
but it is about you, and i must admit that it
feels awkward to write about you without
feeling any ounce of admiration or hatred
pulsing through my tired veins. this poem
is not about me missing you, or how i wish
that you still thought about me, because i
am glad that i no longer float across your
mind whenever you watch a baseball game

v. you were like the titanic and our feelings
were the ocean that carried you closer to me.
you saw the surface of my being, consisting
of all the things you liked about me and the
things that you could put up with. but your
ignorance became too much and every
quality you failed to pay attention to came
crashing into you all at once and i
absolutely destroyed you and i don't know
whether to say i'm sorry or
you deserved this
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