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 Nov 2013 Jami Samson
RILEY
Whats the value of a kiss
When we don’t kiss
We just play bumper cars with our cheeks
~Check that girl out bro~
Whats the value of a hug
When we don’t hug
We just enjoy the spontaneousity of our arms surrounding our lost souls
Ow god… look at that thing go…
Whats the value of men
who shape nothing but testosterone
And images of money;
Lets take images of our money
Flaunt them around
And round will be our days
In that cycle we call the dyslexic arrogance of higher class
*Dude did you see that!?
 Oct 2013 Jami Samson
Sarina
I have let others be young for me
and swallowed years through the saliva of
grown men,
aged to twenty-one
after my first sip of something strong.

The stars
taught me to stay quiet: the brighter I got
farther I had to fall down
(four feet, five feet, five and half).

I never needed to grow up
ached for ancient paintings and literature
in case it would
help me to grow down. Now I am

just two months away from being eighteen
already holding more than a
hundred years
worth of other people inside me
(fifty, twenty-five, fifty-four, thirteen).
This is something of a conjoined effort of poems between my friend Reece and I. We decided to both write about growing up, regardless of how different our perspectives were. (Which is kind of natural, considering he is a college-aged male in England, and I am a teenage girl in the United States.)

Reece is a sensational poet, and I highly recommend you read the countering poem to mine. His work can be found here: http://hellopoetry.com/-reece-aj-chambers/
Created June 1st, 2011

I am not gay.
I am not straight.
I am not curved,
or warped or woofed
I am bent, cylindrical,
a burnt human.

but not weak, nah!

tempered stronger than
furnaced scarred,
hard-stained steel,
a fire shaped child of El.

The sum of,
the product of,
the multiple divisions of:

my hard-on
experiential, existential
hand to hand
combat learning,
life's red copper burnishing,
and my very own
genetic, tantric
commanded tablets,
my natural earnings,

and I guess I am just like
{you, man}


obedient factotum to the
twists and turns of the
curve ***** and spitters
life pitches at my head,
that end up as
body blows.

multiple contusions outside
worn with pride inside,
I award myself a
medal of honor,
and elect myself,
Most Valuable Person,
an All Star of David,
for having survived
one more battle scarred
game day,

and I guess I am just like
{you, man}


when I awake,
in the raceway courses
of my veins,
the speedways to my
heart and brain,
runs the bitter herbs taste
of fear of how
I shall yet again,
earn this day,
my body's keep and shelter,
earn some table scraps of
peace of mind,
that I may lay
myself down to sleep
if ever so briefly,

and I guess I am just like
{you, man}


When I prowl the mid of night,
the fever of combat fear,
my skin sears,
and there is no narcotic
that anesthetizes
even surficial  
the anxiety,
the ailment of
melancholia
that hallmarks my soul,
the overflow of which
spills over the ****
of my vocabulary

So every new day
is a new year,
and I start the diet
of my soul
yet again

and I guess I am just like
{you, man}


Once I was a soldier
who wore the
black and white stripes
of the uniform that stretches
to the four corners
of the world.

I used to sway to the R&B;
of someone else's tunes,
prostrate fell to my knees
speaking someone
else's words,
touched my forehead
to the ground.

but the melancholia that
sterling hallmarks my soul
never disappeared and
renewal was a gift
denied and refuted,
by the lack of clarity
to which I was not
part and parcel

and l guess I am just like
{you, man}


Took a new oath,
swore allegiance
to the alliance of
I don't give a ****
and acceptance of
the infection of
flawed humanity
inside of me
lies buried in the
permafrost of my mind,

So every new day
is a new year,
and I start the diet
of my soul,
yet again

The first new words
daily uttered,
chanted with vehemence
of an out loud prayer
to no one but we two,
me and you, man,
unashamedly clear and enunciated
not mumbled,
not muttered,
seven parts blessing,
three parts curse,
are these words.

l guess,
I am just like
{you, man}


Found and founded a brotherhood of me and
{you, man},
one mantra,
you and I are just alike,
now we have a new
holy romantic empire,
we are human
{you, man}
slaves to
nothing,
no one
but each other.
How I used to write...when I was....
The red shirt is torn,
an eyelash ****,
your skin exposed
but no blood.
You were born for this.

I dig in my silver weapon,
sever your synapses.
With each new cut
comes a soggy cream sheet
and you sigh and you sigh.

It was inevitable.
Fixed smiles
flop from your spine,
see-saw on the board
and form a wrecked star.

Now just your teeth,
the brown raindrops.
I use my thumb
to tug them out,
dislocated, then gone.
Written: October 2013.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time (first draft completed at university), about cutting an apple into segments before removing the pips. May be part of my third-year dissertation.
 Oct 2013 Jami Samson
Shyann Lacy
I live for the future.
I live for the hope.
I live for the adventures that are coming.
I live for my life.
 Oct 2013 Jami Samson
Md HUDA
She unlocked the ***** of my heart
Without taking my heart she went away
‘Come, come this heart is for you'
She went away and never came back.

All the lovers are busy in loving
And I am still in search of you
Love me or not return the *****
Let me live and let me write for another woman…….
 Oct 2013 Jami Samson
Md HUDA
She comes, and she goes but she never stays
She looks, she smiles, but she never speaks.
I look at her; she is a beauty of forever,
She brightens the way like a shining star.
She walks like a snake sweetly,softly and silently
her open hair flying in the open air
I know, does she know?
What a beauty she can make!
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