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 Dec 2010 F White
Emma
Unthink
 Dec 2010 F White
Emma
I think it
might have
maybe
been yesterday,
or the day before,
when it happened

Noticed the room was
different, and the silence was
all of a sudden empty

Realized what a glimmer is
because it
wasn't

Reached and grabbed air
felt my own nails press into my palms
squeezed my eyes  and i think a
tear dropped
swallowed into the hardwood and the silence

I think I stopped caring
I think I finally lost myself
in a memory forever
or a dream
it's so much easier, after all

better to be alone than to feel lonely...

there used to be a mirror in the corner,
and a window
i think i remember

i have scars from the broken glass
i'm white as a ghost
but i don't notice
besides, i'd rather not be
seen
i'd rather hide my red-eyed reflection and
the dust in my hair

maybe i died
but i don't know because that day,
yesterday or the day before,
i stopped feeling

perhaps it was
maybe
actually
a few years ago.
 Dec 2010 F White
Emma
I don't dream, like I did, so many days ago
of your skin, lips, tongue; I don't
want to; I
have no need.
If I could close my eyes forever
and collapse and fall past my bones
and speak in our language
I would know satisfaction.

It's not my body, it's
my being
craving the long-lost touch of you

I want to forget looking down
Gaze with me
we'll connect
again
Our hearts will rock together
again
(but differently)

I know you are trying to
break through the barrier that is
a body, turned from me,
running.

I won't cry, I'll just laugh
and peel carrots and
paint windows with math and
lace up these running shoes,
and wish I could run away, too,
and wish I could chase you.
 Dec 2010 F White
HB
Scruffy and unkempt,
The manic look of someone who's stayed up 36 hours.
Still drove 10 hours for a bunch of strangers.
Had no idea what you were getting into.

A chance greeting of "Hello New Friend!",
The taking of an empty seat.
You had never cracked a bullwhip--I know, 'cause you confessed it.
Your mad scientist brain instantly found the perfect chemistry:
Bad jokes and photography.

A bit of flirting.
"I'm not looking for anything right now".
Still talking by the campfire at dawn,
Arms wrapped round for warmth.

You shoved your number in my pocket,
Hot pink marker scrawled on a scrap of paper.

Phone calls and g-chat.
Mostly **** jokes and bad music references.
Some serious stuff too..
Confessions--you're more 'you' around 'me'.

Midnight and both of us complaining-- not getting enough sleep.
Stretching it out until 1 AM, 2 AM, 3...
Left each other with squid-diddled desirous tentacles,
Havoc on our senses.
Senseless at work.

And you're actually being honest--don't have the backbone to lie.
You're not greedy, or sleezy, or trying to use me.
Course, you're killing me with those unsigned divorce papers...

No dreamer--realistic.
But ****** if you don't hit every weak spot.
Walls broken, just the hint of a smile.
**** good thing there's a few hundred miles between us.

Black and hell and triple ****..
..I miss you...
When are you coming back?
 Dec 2010 F White
Pen Lux
today
 Dec 2010 F White
Pen Lux
Cat.

Milk.

Where were you at 4 o'clock?
 Dec 2010 F White
Pen Lux
It's easier to stare at the people you want to be
than to actually work towards being the person
that they're so carefully showing off.

Just like pretending to listen to the dribble
slowly pouring out of the attention seeking addict,
and daydream about kissing
or having them say what you want to hear
rather than whatever it is you're avoiding.

Calling people names, all the while forgetting yours.
There's always that hesitant moment before you respond,
like a woman who learned the wrong names of colors
and she still can't get them right, even after six shots,
shots to her head, too many blows,
there's something about her, she's too sweet.

I've been spending the past year awkwardly avoiding eye contact
and very (almost too) comfortably  staring at a (wo)man's crotch.
My vocabulary seems to be shrinking as I dump out all the silly words
and try to avoid the ones you can't say infront of kids.
It's not like I can use the ones that are supposed to mean something,
those are all used up, and I'm not one to follow the mainstream,
I'm not even a fish.
 Dec 2010 F White
Pen Lux
I get into those deep places
we're entering digestion
the inside skin station
where everything comes together
to admire each other in the most unconditional of ways.

people talk about people as if they aren't some kind of thing
animals can be things, passions can be things, kisses can be things,
even moments can be things,
If I had to measure the distance between you and me
there would be not one thing in the way,
but me.

You see, I've been trying really hard lately to forget you.
It's like you've got me walked with window skin so everyone can see inside, and my eyes are rockets,
exploding,
screaming,
telling everyone who can't read,
anyone who doesn't have the time,
someone writing in a diary with blue ink,
that even though we go by different names,
you and I are more similar,
than the same anything.

So if you thought I was going to talk about that
deep dark mask I hide behind, then leave
because the too soon has come and gone too far,
you came here expecting something,
and I tell you to go out of mercy from the overflow,
because this is me standing here naked
in a mask of who I really am, which really is no mask at all.

This is no show for sad folks who want to feel anothers broken heart,
this is a spilling of one to another, through the small crowd intimacy
we sometimes long for and are suddenly surrounded, because it's so much easier to say it's about someone else and to never use their name.

If in my eyes were your eyes
and yours mine,
then nothing would change but for the directions in which we look.
 Dec 2010 F White
Alan McClure
The baker's wife
is neither surprised nor impressed
when he brings her cakes and pastries.
The child of a joiner
can take or leave a treehouse.

But since I am not a poet,
I hope you can take these inelegant lines,
their lack of rhyme or rhythm
and their false humility
and read this in them:

After all this time
you still make me think and see
in new and unusual ways
and for that, and all else besides,
I thank you.
 Nov 2010 F White
Sarah Michelle
I am what I am
for I am
a perfect reflection of a fantastic source
created in a cyclical format
I may only be wrinkled never ripped
for I am
What I am
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