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 Mar 2015 Jaide Lynne
Alexis A
I tried
I truly did
But now I'm left
Sitting here wondering
If recovery is
Even plausible.

This has been my life
For almost six years
And how do you
Give something up
After that long?

People say that there's hope
But I can't seem to see
any left in
Pandora's beautiful box,
There's no hope for me.

Do you see now,
Just how desperate I feel
How alone
How scared
I just want to be free.
 Dec 2014 Jaide Lynne
Devon Webb
We are critical.

We find flaws in
everything we see
because nobody
wants to write
about perfection,
even though sometimes
we wish we could just stay
staring into that
unblemished surface.

2. We are never satisfied.

We live our lives upon
mountains of
scrunched up
bits of refill and
ideas we gave up
trying to
express.

3. We never forget.

We write words about
eye contact made
three months ago
that we replay over
and over in our minds
even though it
stopped
being relevant.

4. We are fickle.**

Our emotions flash
from one
to the other
like strobe lighting that
disorientates us
until we feel as if
the world
will never be still.

5. We are exposed.

We don't know how
to keep our feelings
to ourselves so
we'll write them
down for
you to find
'accidentally'.

6. We are vulnerable.

We wear our
hearts on our sleeves
and won't lift a
muscle to fight back
if somebody tries
to break it
because we thrive
from the pain.

7. We will never stop.

We will never stop
feeling and
we will never stop
hurting,
we will never stop
breaking and
bleeding and
loving
even though the cycle
is endless
and we know what's
coming next.


We are addicted
to agony,
but we agonise
for the art.
It's worth it though.
 Dec 2014 Jaide Lynne
lauren
i will stop writing poetry like a eulogy when you start making me feel alive
 Dec 2014 Jaide Lynne
Emily Joyce
I will hand you the gun but I'll never let you have the bullets.
 Dec 2014 Jaide Lynne
Triiniity
Show me your wounds
I'll tear it open at the seams
And as it seems
I'm a good person
I just behave violently
Little smile
Written on a sheet of notebook paper
Guitar strings
Plucked by a boy who's midnight hair masks his true personality

Shy kid of 17
No visible emotions just strings
Guitar strings

You look at him with broken promises from past lovers tattooed to your pupils
While the only thing made permanent in his are music notes
And though those are there for you too
The cons outweigh the pros

An open mic night
Who could've guessed that what I was planning on as
"just another open mic"
might have turned into this

But things don't always go as planned
For me they almost never do
And while I usually try to view the glass as as full
More times than not things turn out the opposite way
Leaving me...
Half empty

So think of this poem as your warning
I know more than anyone that sometimes it may seem like my baggage is deemed too heavy to carry
And if it appears to be too much for you
Just do me a favor and let me know before I unpack into your space

Guitar strings caught my attention
Loose threads on the sweater of my unraveling attention span

Take a chance
Take the plunge
Let yourself fall into a new romance
Don't think
Just.. Do.
 Dec 2014 Jaide Lynne
Molly
He gave me his
jacket
and it smelled like
him and smoke
and I knew why
but I wore it anyway.

The day he
disappeared
it was cold outside so
I wore his jacket
and
wiped my nose on the sleeves.

We got the call from the
psych ward
three days later and I couldn't
see him
or
hold him
so I buried my face in his jacket
even though it smelled like smoke
and I knew why.

I kept it
stuffed in the corner between
the wall and my bed
so on the nights when I
missed him too much to sleep
I could wrap myself in it
even though
it didn't smell like him anymore.

When he came back
a month later
and I saw him in
a crowded hallway
he looked at me and
smiled
when he noticed I was wearing
his jacket
and he
hugged me
so it smelled like him again.

I still
wear his jacket
when I can't sleep at night.
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