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 Mar 2018 Jasmine Johnson
Heather
Touch the rain
It may look to you
Like the clouds
Are a sheep
Crying
Because no one counts her
In their sleep
But the beads of blue
Are the stars decorating
The tarmac  
With ghostly grey diamonds
Or perhaps scattering the ashes
Of dead suns
It is the cold kiss
Of the wind
The brutal embrace of a tempest
The rain will wash
The pain right off you
Because those tiny lagoons
Are asteroids that never grew up
Most people I know hate rain because it’s inconvenient. I think the rain is beautiful.
we wrote more poetry
in the wrinkles of your sheets
in one night than
I have written in the pages
of my journal all year
you don't know I have this account so I can vent here lol
someone's in the next room over
having *** while we
are weeping
what a way to mark the occasion
the day my fingers found a wound
you let someone else doctor
it's upsetting see
the bible in drawer next to us
the way our hands still
fit together
like the torn halves
of a love letter
the way you got
all dressed up like the rain
and how we couldn't tell
the difference in the shower
it was the longest hour and a half
spent crying
the hot water wouldn't give up
so why should we
right?
even though it was scalding
neither of us touched the ****
we knew this was supposed to hurt
your hair
a black mess against my shoulder
my fingers
oil in the vinegar of your hands
our bodies
the great divide
all the sobbing
a river runs through it
without the courage
to carry or **** us
so we step out
and drip dry
down to a mute breakfast
composed of quiet
and last nights liquor
as we came back in
there were people in our room
at first i thought them detectives
dissecting things
to see who had died here
i had forgotten this
was a hotel
and they were only
cleaning up after us
i wanted to stop them
plead
that the sheets were still perfect
that if they clean the bathroom
no one will know
what happened here
someone has to remember
"please
i know
these cigarette burns
by name
i will bury the faucet
let me take the tub
i don't care how
if i have to
i will drag it home by hand
"
A wide and expanding world dilate our technology,
revolutionary thoughts and conflict initiate an evolving psychology.

Simplicity in life no longer here as we form double personalities nearly on in the same, as we all have an assumed second name.

Simplicity in life sacrificed for evolution and integrated minds, or is this just the plan of humankind's masterminds?

We forget the health and happiness of past struggle, as todays anxious, depressed, and integrated minds smuggle in double trouble.
A non-conventional look at the current state of globalization, including both pros and cons. Whats your opinion?
Living in a world with no honest leader.
Every single day comes a new victor,
using the people's heart to paint the picture of fear.

When will we escape the rampant greed running amuck?
Become our own leaders and stop giving a ****.

When asked questions like these, the defenders only have a mouthful.
The reins of power should be in the hands of the masses,
known as the powerful.

They shake at night with terrors of their past.
They finally understand they have worn a fake mask.

When will we stop eating from a government feeder?
Finally equalize and balance the power teeter.
We must, living in a world with no honest leader.
Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever be good enough, if I'll ever fit your standards of "perfect". I wonder how you could possibly love me, if I can't even love myself. You mean the world, the stars, and the entire universe to me. But sometimes I feel you drifting away, into a vast ocean of nothingness.. Becoming just another part of the past, when I wish you could be my whole future.
I finally learned how to use a lighter.
I’m 21 years old and no longer afraid of fire.
I have you to thank for that. You and I were rotted logs thrown
together in a desperate attempt to create something beautiful.
Because part of the beauty in fire is how dangerous it is.
We burned each other out and could not say no to pouring just
a little more lighter fluid over each other. Our problem was that
our embers danced in different directions. I had to burn brighter-
you had to carry a more powerful flame. I finally reached out for a
glass of cold water because I had been charred beyond recognition.
The embers that once danced off of your tongue no longer leave
blisters on my hands and heart. I put us out for good reasoning.
I am no longer afraid of fire. I am learning to control it.
I keep asking the girl with the crystal ball eyes about my
past but she only has questions about my future.
Every single line chiseled into my hands is a dried up river
from cobalt blue dreams and mango colored land. The air is
thick with heavy accents that drift in and out of sleepy ears.
The end of my hand trails off in stitches like war wounds.
The sky is heavy and oil slicked, encrusted with paper lanterns
that lift my heavy head from thick poppy fields to a million
light bulbs in the sky. My right pointer finger maps out 3
children all with heads of thick curls and coffee bean eyes,
but my left ring finger is light and free of any bands of diamonds
or gold. My palms show thick life lines but short and burrowing
deep into layers of muscle and tissue that wipe away any tears
from this life or the last.
kissing you was like swerving into oncoming traffic

i can never tell if i am more haunted by empty picture frames or the ashes of their contents

you taught me that the saying "pick your battles" meant not answering when love was at the door

sometimes when i drink whiskey i swear i can hear your voice in the creases of my bedsheets & i sleep on the floor

i still catch myself running my hands over things you touched the most, looking for the echoes of your fingertips

i practice things i'll never say to you

i remember the day you told me you didn't like poetry, how "everything's already been said" & how "nothing meaningful can be captured without being cliche" you know, i don't miss you like the sun and moon, i do not miss you like tide bent waves crashing on the shoreline, i miss you like a chernobyl  swingset misses children

rumor has it that drowning is a lot like coming home, that drinking bleach can **** the butterflies in your stomach

for your love of cigarettes, i would have been an ashtray

this halloween i want to dress up as the you when you loved yourself and show up on your doorstep

i never understood what you meant when you said i was an instrument, back when you would cup your hands around my chest and breathe through the holes in my heart, i still wonder if the sounds i made remind you of wind chimes

i never paid much attention to abandoned buildings until i became one

in my dreams all the flowers smell like your perfume

i am the only person who has ever wished for the same snowflake to fall twice

if i could go back, and rewrite the definition of audacity, it would be how when we lost the bet of love, you said "we never shook on it"

i love you, if the feeling is not mutual, please pretend this was a poem

the only apology i want from you, is to have you repeat the names of children we will never have in your parents living room until they *****

we are the same person if you find yourself up at 4am dry heaving promises, or if you are kept awake by the laughter of those who've abandoned you

nobody ever told you that goodbyes taste like the back of stamps

sometimes i'm convinced that the only reason we hug, is so you can check my back for exit wounds
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