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 Feb 2014 gd
j
I never speak loud enough
and my words are consistently twisted
by the poison in my tongue
before they escape my mouth
and the things that I say are often
misinterpreted in the worst possible manner
when all I really ever meant to say
was that I love you
and I really hope that you love me too
but the words came too quietly,
too softly from my terrified lips
which scarce part to make way for the syllables
that were not meant to come out
and
you told me I was too clingy, too soon
too possessive and too paranoid
but I just didn't want the soul that I love
to scatter into ashes and leave me alone
again
 Feb 2014 gd
Megan Grace
most days
I am overwhelmed
by the need to talk to you,
to feel your name drip from my
mouth.
 Feb 2014 gd
brooke
little bean.
 Feb 2014 gd
brooke
I'm tired of feeling guilty
over not doing lifts, or only
six squats, wondering why
my thighs look fat at the
gym, but okay at home,
stopping mid-crunch because
i can feel my ******* skin
i don't want to abhor the
body that I live in.
(c) Brooke Otto 2014
 Feb 2014 gd
Megan Grace
funny thing
 Feb 2014 gd
Megan Grace
you molded me, soft, in
your hands- a wheel at
Pottery Barn- and I couldn't
say "no" (impossible, at that
point, since I was so sure the
sun set in your palms and the
moon only rose upon your
permission) so I let you turn me
into someone new, someone I
thought you could love. your
words tore open my chest and
mixed with my veins. they
whispered "you are beautiful, you
are lovely, you are everything" and
I soaked it up until you had nothing
to give but apathetic shrugs and
a mind that was always somewhere
else. I expected too much of you,
but how could I not when you
had promised me every star in the
sky on its own individual string?
 Feb 2014 gd
Chris
I just wanted to be the sunlight
that woke you up in the morning,
the warmth you wouldn’t mind
slipping through the curtains.
But I suppose it’s enough
for me to be
the memory
you hope to forget.
 Jan 2014 gd
Tessa F
Pancakes
 Jan 2014 gd
Tessa F
Today I screamed at the wall.
It was broad daylight.
I bet the neighbors heard.
I threw your pillowcase across the room.
I couldn't breathe.
I wonder if you do this too.
I slowly sunk to my knees.
It kind of felt like a prayer.
Lying on the floor I pull one of your letters close to me.
You called me starfish.
It still smells like you.
I can almost see you writing it in your horrible handwriting.
Five more weeks.
I have had this headache for three days now.
Stuck with writers block since I left.
Sometimes I can't close my eyes.
Your blue ones are so beautiful.
My heart still pounds in my ears.
I wonder if yours does too.
I must have memorized all of your letters by now.
It really hurts.
I try to claw my heart out sometimes.
I think I'm crazy.
You must be lying on this floor with me.
I can feel your thumb brush over my thumb.
Your heartbeat is slower than mine.
I'm not sure if I want to wrap you closer to me
Or push you away.
I could drown in your memory these days.
I'm afraid I won't get back up.
I wrap you closer of course.
I'm wearing your T-shirt.
And the smile you gave me once.
I've spent the day on the floor.
It's Sunday.
Pancake day.
You always made them the best.
I think I'll scream at the wall some more.
Nowadays I can't go to bed without a cup of tea.
*It kind of feels like your lips on mine.
 Jan 2014 gd
Chris
and you left
 Jan 2014 gd
Chris
One day you might look back,
and you might not remember
how I cracked open
my already splintered ribcage
to give you whatever I had
left inside.
You might not remember
how stars went dim
when we walked in empty streets.
You might not remember
silences that felt too full,
or nights that felt too short.
But please,
please remember;
at least I tried.
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