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I've had days. I've had back room, bare faced, broken days.
I mark them on my calendar with silver stars. And 2013 is starting to look like the night sky
On a crystal canvas.
Beauty from pain. Bitter cliches.
Cliches are cliches for a reason. And not because they're applicable.
Because they are vague.
Because to you it means a Phoenix. A girl reborn.
But to me it means blood that fell on the snow so perfectly
That the drops turned to petals and you saw a rose.
All I saw was red.
I don't know my own mind. Sometimes I feel we haven't met yet.
That she passes me by on the street corners with a smile and a nod but
She doesn't know my bones.
All she's learned to see is cellulite and blood.
I tell her to look at the bone.
The pure inside we have both forgotten.

I've had days. Pill bottle, smoke cloud, red nosed days.
Days that smell like cold fingers. Days that feel like cigarette mittens.
Days that belong next to the fire place with a warm mug.
I've found my eyes lost in ember and the cackle of the flames.
I've felt mocked by the dead and inanimate. But somehow my head stays in place.
I continue on a course of blatant sanity.
I guess I have met my mind. But we don't get along.
She runs fast but tires quickly.  And one of us always lags behind the other.
Like an inconstant tide.

I've had days. Pale faced, smoky eyed, purging days.
Days that sit on street corners hungry. Days that lost their weight.
Days when I wanted to crawl out of my skin to see how it looks from the outside.
It occurs to me that I haven't met my eyes face to face.
I've seen their likeness in glass but never their glow as they caught the ember and filled with tears.
I will never understand my mind or shake her hand and that's fine.
But maybe just once I'd like to meet my eyes.

I've had days. Sun window, pink cheeked, puffy coat days. Days when I remember spring.
Days when I thaw.
Days when my mind and eyes and bones can hold contented hands and understand each other.
I think I'm learning. Learning to meet myself in every mirror glance, every blushing touch, every tear, each awkward giggle.
Perhaps I will be able to face them.
To know my mind without formal introduction.
To meet by bones without seeing their white.
See my eyes face to face without leaving my skin.
And there will be days when I can't.
I've had those days. I've had many days.
Dark room days, glazed eye haze days, cold white winter wet days, warm window welcome days. That's the funny thing about days.
They too never meet.
They pass each other on street corners with a nod and a smile. Forgotten from time and the mind that they
Never met.
Ash
He found me in ash. Too delicate to be held.
Ready and willing to crumble.
He tried to smoke what was left; looking for high.
All that was left of me was burn.
 Oct 2014 Gigi Tiji
Jaylen Vella
a renaissance is long overdue.
the rebirth is officially here, this marks the beginning of a new chapter.
 Oct 2014 Gigi Tiji
runu swayam
an enigma…
a line…
a dot…
or a shine?


Who are we?
a sum total of our illusions…
or the choices of our delusions…
a window to our mind…
an absentia…
a presence…
or total blind…

Who are we?
energy…
or mind…
body…
or spirit sublime…

a lung…
a heart.
an *****…
a gland.
or an invisible cast…

the ‘hold’
or the holder…
inane
or a super natural plast…

Who are we?
the question perpetual.

Who are we?
question which shows ‘void’.

Who are we?
the question itself, a void.
filling, is but our indulgence.

to live our mind
to play our mind
we locked our ‘self’
we chose to forget.

The ‘self’ is.
we chose sleep.
the reverie we love…
but enough we have seen
and lots we have been.

the inner self beckons.
the sound of beyond…
we hear but neglect,
we respond some,
then again forget.

the waking, the reverie.
the ebb and the tide.

we lesser mortals,
ignorant of our shine.

some of us have woken,
we can’t lie now…
we hear the silence,
we know the flow,
we know that space,
where death doth not show.
 Oct 2014 Gigi Tiji
Olivia Kent
Oops, I woke up dead,
Reflected on what I'd done.
Picked up my pen,
began to write.

I had four children you know,
I was a selfish *****.
I spent no time on loving them
I really didn't  care.
Always put myself first.
Hell, I always do.
I'm such a witch.
Did *** and drugs and rock'n'roll,
Far too much to mention.

Then I met him,
A crazy kind of love,
but true love nonetheless,
The first time ever,
A feather in my cap for me.
Wasn't a notch in his bed post,
He swore he loved me too.
I know he did,
Never will he admit his love to any soul bar mine.
But he loved his whisky better.
He's still my friend.

Praise be.
After spilling poison buckets, filled with animosity.
Apologies given in metaphoric kisses,
well they made amends.
After the nonsense, still friends
Friends will do.
It'll have to.

He wrote reams of poetry,
Rather more than me.
I wrote books, because I love it.
You know I really do.
And then the sky fell in,
I'd  missed the most important thing.
And now here I lay,
Cold as stone,
Thinking what have I done.
I have given birth to many,
but, only thought of one.
At this point I say sorry,
Wipe away an icy tear.
Smile slightly breaking through.
I miss you all my dears.
(c) Livvi
Yes I'm still alive!
 Oct 2014 Gigi Tiji
Katie
piñata
 Oct 2014 Gigi Tiji
Katie
it's been a circus blur
a whirlwind of uncertainty
smothers me with unfamiliarity
vintage friends have become foreign territory
been burning incense for some clarity
just hoping to find a little prosperity
 Oct 2014 Gigi Tiji
Katie
tude
 Oct 2014 Gigi Tiji
Katie
don't mind spending my saturday nights in solitude
gives me this sense of gratitude
just knowing my own company is plentitude
feeling proud of my renewed *attitude
 Oct 2014 Gigi Tiji
Katie
I like
warm hugs and authentic smiles. passionate people
and not looking through files
I like how that rhymed^
I also wanted to end this poem
before I turn it into an obnoxious cliche
files rhymez poem turtles lamp warm hugs authentic purple
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