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 Jul 2014 Tess
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They say we die a thousand times before our hearts stop beating
I agree

One is the sigh of a person giving up on you
Another is the grasp of a loved one fading away
When you walk away and no one calls your name
You die again when you hear the goodbye of a person
you thought would stay
You die the minute you realized you wasted your life
on someone or something that isn't even going to happen
When someone you thought cares forgets your birthday,
You die a little bit but live on anyway
You die when someone you knew so well becomes a stranger
& when someone you love doesn't even bother to know you
You die when you feel you're never good enough
You die again when there's no hope
after all that's said and all that's done
You die every time someone leaves
and when someone dies, you die with them

You die a thousand times before your heart stops
And even after that, when one by one people start to forget you,
**you die again
 Jul 2014 Tess
Ryan Jakes
What if I told you that I loved you? What if I told you that you bring morning to life, that you are the sole character of every dream, positions varying, unlike your silent gaze.

What if I told you that your smile lights my sky better than any star could, what then?
That I have cried at your words a thousand times, as syllables needle sharp fight their war to hold you together, while I can only watch as he knowingly rips you apart.

These words are mine, thrown by my jealous tongue at your fools institution. Words of love to the jaded (though you'd say wise). Everyday you fade as I watch the horizon, hoping for your smile.
What if?
 Jul 2014 Tess
M Sanchez
Pluviophile
 Jul 2014 Tess
M Sanchez
As a child, I have always had a sense of love towards the rain
Its smell, sound and feeling engraved inside my sole being
Yet a single drop and the streets are but streetlights and dull colored umbrellas
and I'd wonder, why are people so afraid of dark skies?
Until I realized, for humans, it is okay to stray away from those who need you most when the clouds above them are an ill colored grey
but if the sky above me has days where the sun can't be found
And it needs to cry,
Then it should
because most times my heart beats like thunder,
My veins look like lighting,
And it begins to pour rain
And so I've realized, if I were a form of nature
who pushes people away
I'd probably be a category 5 Hurricane
With a six page newspaper spread

— The End —