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 Sep 2013 jennifer baldwin
berry
let me first say, i have absolutely no idea what i'm doing
and i don't really know what this is or where to start.

i am comprised of scratched porcelain and bad dreams -
made up entirely of half-hearted attempts at sanity,
countless unspoken "i need you's",
and ever-faltering faith in myself and those around me.

i am not a poet, or at least not a good one, i don't think.
i feel a lot of things, sometimes all at once -
other times i don't feel anything at all, which scares me beyond
a level of which i am capable of explaining to you.

i nearly jumped in front of a train in april of this year. i don't know why.
my feet ventured toward the platform before it had even registered
in my head that they were doing so. i heard my best friend speak my name,
and snapped out of the trance. not a lot of people know about that.

i've been in love a lot of times with a lot of different people.
i have a fear off falling but a tendency to jump from high places.
i don't read books as much as i used to, but i'm working on that.
i'm in love right now and it's really difficult but it's nice. i'm happy.

i grew up with five brothers, so i like to think that made me sort of tough.
(but i cry every time i see a deer or a possum on the side of the road.)
i don't smoke cigarettes anymore, partly because my father hates them,
partly because they remind me too much of someone who liked them more than he liked me.

i write a lot about people who i don't talk to or see anymore. they don't live in my heart,
but the curse of memory is more often than not unbreakable. i call it leftover poetry.
then again i don't consider any of my pitiful mutterings to be poetry. just a bunch of
raggedly strung together words that sometimes rhyme a little bit.

i used to want to die and i wrote a song about it that a lot of people really liked.
i don't want to die anymore. i will never show that song to my mother.
i am much more content with watching people talk than actually talking myself.
this piece of writing feels too personal and i don't think i like it, but i'm pretty sure
Eleanor Roosevelt said something about doing one thing every day that scares you.

m.f.
 Sep 2013 jennifer baldwin
brooke
I always made it my
business to touch the
parts of you even you
neglected, the webbing
between your fingers,
your eyebrows. I was
fascinated by your
eyelashes, I always
wanted to show you
I would not hurt
your eyes.
(c) Brooke Otto
Posted by the door
watching as the "bouncers"
let in girl after girl
only to whisper "*****"
behind their backs
meanwhile
polite, kind, little me
gets stopped while the rest of the pile
trip on in, faces plastered with smiles
I got the denial.
A stranger from the window
one hand on chase
offered me a shot
and then proceeded
to correct himself,
"I meant a *** shot in the face"
then disappears with a jeer
so I turned and
walked home alone
up the stairs of stone
to this bed
why be righteous at all
when given this ****
over and over
might as well
sleep/be dead
 Sep 2013 jennifer baldwin
brooke
A hummingbird mistook
my father for a flower, what
a pure existence he must have.
(c) Brooke Otto
September 15th
Take me back two years
when you were there to
hear my fears
now I'm two steps from
running away

What can I say
I'm broken
what can I do
I'm choking
this is all
cliché

Does your brain bring
all of the things I
used to be
buying rings
writing songs
at night I could
hear you sing

Still haven't felt the same
I'm worn down
tame
lame
hanging my head in shame
a sham of the man
I used to be
when you were
there for me
Daniel Magner 2013
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