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 Aug 2015 Fiona Mae
Aditi Kumar
I want my words to be beautiful.
Beautiful like yours.
I want to see ordinary things,
Find the magic in them,
And put the magic on a page, for everyone to understand.

I want to have a way with words.
I want every poem of mine
To become a masterpiece.
Just like yours.

I am not broken.

But you are.

You see the world through pain,
And pain makes the colors brighter.
It makes the value of feelings
Climb higher.

Sometimes I wonder
If I should be broken like you
If I want my words to resonate
Like yours.

Sometimes I wonder,
If it will be truly worth it
In the end.

I wonder what it will be like,
To cut myself up to pour out the beauty inside me.

Just like you.

I imagine that you
Raise the blade
Slice your feelings open
And write your masterpiece
In red.
Can only sad people write good poems? Can only broken people find inspiration in anything?
 Aug 2015 Fiona Mae
L
X
 Aug 2015 Fiona Mae
L
X
I had my fears
You let them out
Now I wrap myself around you
like a blanket full of doubt
old draft
For Ray, the one I knew a year ago

**
Leigh
A small kindness can’t sustain
A screaming, starving child.
One step at a time
Won’t bridge the distance
Between salvation and despair.

I click that button.
I like that you are running to beat cancer,
But you won’t.

The world boils and burns.
I won’t share anymore,
Because I don’t care anymore.
Facebook *******.
Sometimes I feel old,
So old that I treat the people of my age like babies,
Like they would get on a broom stick and fly to foreign lands,
over the hills and across the sea,
Over the mountains draped in snow,
Over the autumn fields green and yellow
Through the forest where my childhood stood still
Scared and lonely
I look at my fingers and the pen lying dead on my diary
Dear world, do you know that I exist?
I am trying to bridge the distance with poetry
And fill the scars with dreams
Dear sun, please stay
A little longer i beg
Joy stayed with me a night--
Young and free and fair--
And in the morning light
He left me there.

Then Sorrow came to stay,
And lay upon my breast
He walked with me in the day.
And knew me best.

I'll never be a bride,
Nor yet celibate,
So I'm living now with Pride--
A cold bedmate.

He must not hear nor see,
Nor could he forgive
That Sorrow still visits me
Each day I live.
 Aug 2015 Fiona Mae
Joshua Haines
And I want to tell her that I understand
what it feels like to be fake, insignificant,
and a shadow on the sidewalk of society.

And I want to tell her that I also borrow
the experiences of others --
that I, too, learn feelings
by stopping and staring at personal wreckage,
like a tourist of emotions,
like an inevitable wish of a human being.
Shallow breaths,
tight chest,
blurry vision,
No rest.
*******
by my thoughts:
make it stop...
‘give it all you’ve got.’
Head spinning,
hope dwindling.
Skin burning,
bones chilling.
Drowning in air
a sinking ship;
dying of thirst,
and I don’t get a drip.
Surrounded by an ocean
and I can’t see
anything.
I can’t hear
for the life of me.
This feeling
I swear
is killing 
me.

Whispering:
“give in
don’t get up
stay home
you’re not enough.
Even if there’s nothing wrong:
walk out the door
and harm
will come”
This ubiquitous feeling
draping
over me,
enveloping
everything,
wet,
and weighted...
bet you’ve never hated
someone so much
you’d stab them in the chest
and without a moments rest
grab them at the throat
so tight they can’t whisper a note
and leave them wondering
if they’ve even given their best
after their whole self feels negated.

**This hate,  
this punishment 
or something,
draped
over me
so viciously
is known as:
Anxiety.
 Mar 2015 Fiona Mae
Stellar
you grow fire trees
in the hollows of your mind
yet your chest remains
to be a lonely void

if you let me in,
will I **survive?
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