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 Aug 2013 Jamila Obsiye
Jamie Lee
His laughter boils the blood,
that courses through each vein,
Every second that I am forced,
to listen makes me insane.

Chaos, he brings quickly about,
to the voices inside my head.
"Be nice, be calm, bear it."
"**** that, I want him dead!"

The pressure swells; rising,
soon I will lose my control-
"Just let me hit him once,
I'll only make a tiny hole!"


"No! You are better than this."
I try and try to fight it, I do-
"Only a few more days," I say,
*"Then it will all be through."
I don't actually feel this way, but there are times where people can really get on my nerves and I say mean things....


Written on 2013-08-21 // Copyright ©2013 Jamie Johnson.
A while back I met a girl. No. I met “the girl”.
As the quote goes “To the world you may be one person but to one person you may be the world.” and that was it, she was my world.
Now before you go thinking that I’m just some love sick, idealistic, hopeless romantic teenager caught up in the beauty and wonder of his first love just think!
Actually don’t. Don’t think, don’t rationalize, don’t mull it over assuming and judging, just listen.
Because that is exactly what I am. I am a love sick, idealistic, hopeless romantic teenager.
I am head over heels for this girl. I am knees over elbows, I am elephants over tricycles!
She drove me crazy, actually I think I walked there all by myself but it was nice to finally have someone to share it with.
She was my friend and then she wasn’t my friend. She was more than my friend.
She was my friend, my teacher, my counselor, my idol, my source of instant joy in a world that had proven itself to be cruel and bitter at the worst of times.
She was that person that I could picture running down the streets in the pouring rain in shorts, a T-shirt and bright yellow gum boots handing out colourful umbrellas to people trying to stay dry. She was that one spark from a campfire that stayed brighter longer than all the others drifting up out of the flames into the dark sky
and just when you thought it was going to go out it joined the stars and became immortalized.
She was my love, my everything, my world.
And I didn’t love her for the big "look at me moments".
Its true what they say about loving someone for the little things.
I loved her for the whispered secrets and the quiet murmurs.
I loved her for the way she held my hand when I had to leave.
She had the softest grip but with all my strength I couldn’t break free.
I loved her for the way she looked at me when we danced around her kitchen in our socks laughing.
I loved her for the way she stood up on her tip toes making our kisses last just one second longer before our lips parted.
I loved her.
It didn't matter that I couldn't think when I was around her because her presence turned my brain to mush
because I was with her and that made everything else okay.

One day she stopped holding my hand when I had to go, we didn't dance in our socks anymore, she didn't stand on her tiptoes for kisses.
When she left me I told myself I would get over her and move on, that was over a year ago.
For a long time I wondered how I was going to live in a world where everything reminded me of her.
I  tried to date other people and failed miserably when my thoughts were filled with pictures of her. I struggled, my love for her tore me apart.
Eventually I began to live again, functioning with an acceptance that I may never be over her.

Today I met a girl.
No. I met "the girl", the same girl, the girl I had met over two years ago and today, she's my friend and I am still elephants over tricycles for her.
 Aug 2013 Jamila Obsiye
KM
You know, for a girl with
Such a wild imagination,
She argues with
Logic, far too often.

She's pretty pessimistic
For a girl with sunshine eyes
The darkness makes her tick
And a soul that's full of lies

Sometimes she gets so morbid
I scare my friends away
She's fascinated by blood
I like it better that way

An enigma in her randomness
She is a song that holds no words
Staring down life's rabbit holes
Both the blessing and the curse

Time is always standing still
The sunshine never lasts
She dances to her own drum
Waiting for the one who understands

The voices that softly whisper
From the outside in, to the inside out
Putting reason out of mind
Adding an inkling of doubt

The boy who sees her light
And can hear her dancing beat
As they explore the darkness
Fighting voices of deceit
At the rate we're going, Mike Hauser and I could write our own poetry book ;) check out his work! He's a fantastic poet.
If i tried a little harder
I could be a little smarter
But what's the point in trying
Just inching close to dying

Yes, I've got minutes plenty
but I'm living like there's twenty
Maybe I have got a century
Who knows? I'm just fourteen

But years, they are years, and years go by
But time is arbitrary and time is mine
Time is my ***** and times by my side
So I'm living like I'm living and I'm livin' my life.

I'm living like I'm living and I'm livin' my life.
I wrote a rap because I thought it'd be funny
It's not funny it's just kinda awkward
Sorry

I don't want to delete it because I think it's hilarious but don't judge my poetry based on this
 Aug 2013 Jamila Obsiye
TJ Chiang
I’m Drowning

I’m drowning
All I’m thinking
Is how to hold my breath
How to stay awake
My body’s eh ache
I’m sinking
Without you

I’m moving on
You are moving on
Why can’t
We just stay for a moment?
For our enjoyment

Stop time
Can’t we let time
Pass us by
It is a crime
For time
To continue
For our enjoyment

Please, stop time
To erase all wrong I did
Looking higher
For you and me
To be together
Again

I’m sinking
Without you
Stop time
Can’t we let time
Pass us by
It is a crime

Time pass we by
I’m drowning
All I’m thinking
Is how to hold my breath
How to stay awake
Sometimes the poem
doesn't want to come;
it hides from the poet
like a playful cat
who has run
under the house
& lurks among slugs,
roots, spiders' eyes,
ledge so long out of the sun
that it is dank
with the breath of the Troll King.

Sometimes the poem
darts away
like a coy lover
who is afraid of being possessed,
of feeling too much,
of losing his essential
loneliness-which he calls
freedom.

Sometimes the poem
can't requite
the poet's passion.

The poem is a dance
between poet & poem,
but sometimes the poem
just won't dance
and lurks on the sidelines
tapping its feet-
iambs, trochees-
out of step with the music
of your mariachi band.

If the poem won't come,
I say: sneak up on it.
Pretend you don't care.
Sit in your chair
reading Shakespeare, Neruda,
immortal Emily
and let yourself flow
into their music.

Go to the kitchen
and start peeling onions
for homemade sugo.

Before you know it,
the poem will be crying
as your ripe tomatoes
bubble away
with inspiration.

When the whole house is filled
with the tender tomato aroma,
start kneading the pasta.

As you rock
over the damp sensuous dough,
making it bend to your will,
as you make love to this manna
of flour and water,
the poem will get hungry
and come
just like a cat
coming home
when you least
expect her.
I have the slightest idea what you would say to me if I told you that you were the last goodbye I wanted to say before I left. That I wanted you to watch me pack as I told you all the things I needed to get off my chest for my sake, just to watch your ****** expression as the words poured out of me...finally. I wouldn't cross the line, I'd let the last touch be a kiss on the cheek or the forehead, something endearing to show that I grew up this summer, to show I wanted your happiness. For the past 3 days I've been in deep contemplation as to whether I'd ask to see you before I depart, or just leave and leave it fate for us to cross paths again if its meant. I wonder if I'll get those same butterflies you used to give me, if I'll hold myself back from kissing you because I know it'll feel so right. It always amazed me how our mouths just knew what to do, how our bodies just learned each other so well and taught the other exactly what to do.

I want a goodbye just to say I'm still not over you.

— The End —