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 Aug 3 JJ Hutton
Leah Ward
Oh come on,
What is it with you
and the setting sun?
You are like brothers.
You both need something inside of you
that burns no matter what.
My face peels as if getting to the middle
 of a twisted plot, my spine is sore,
 I’m used too much, I’ve got finger stains
 from every one whose ever touched me.
Some of my inside is missing, how does one
 come to the ending of things
 if you have to keep skipping the important parts; 
It doesn’t matter really, you get the  gist of what I’m saying. I’m worn and lightweight
   as a paperback laid out on a summer day.
 You read my expressions plainly; your eyes
 skimming over the poor grammar, you say “
I want to write myself in your story
“ and  scribble your name on my arm.
Zine coming soon
Follow me on social media // theprettypoems
It felt like opening your mouth
to say something, don't, and then
biting ******* your lip.
You don't deserve this.
You tried to explain but he'd place a finger
on your mouth and say
"don't speak of these terrible things."
Don't speak.
There's an image of you two
hip-to-hip as merry as an afternoon tune,
of course you'll never forget
what romance looked liked
before the war.
put down your weapons
if you hadn't played with fire
Then you would not have burned.
They say Apollo, the sun God, is the truth
so you stood naked in the sun
and flew closer and closer until he begged you
to come back to him.
You couldn't find the heart to tell him
no matter how close you were.
Here is my rendition of “somewhere over the rainbow” this is my “song about hope”
I see blue birds fly far from here but those left behind will have the strength to cope.
Those baby birds will fly, fly away from the burning smoke.  The dreams that we dreamed
Long ago before bedtime will lift us out of this dark tundra, where all we see or seem to see
Is what isn’t or will never be. How can we sing if the blackness clogs our throats? A little birdie
stuttered, as she stared wistfully at the sky, “that even if I don’t know how I still have got to try. “
Around us is madness, a civil desperation from our soul, that greed and *** can’t fill alone. My
friend jumps from the safe zone and falls like a stone, but before I could lose hope she was flying
on her own.
I feel ready all the time to be the change I need but I never found the courage to let my spirit free.
We are defined by what we create, but also what we refuse to destroy.  
The little birdie announces, then deploys.
You start to realize that the only one who can save you is yourself.
Love is equal to the wingspan.
– I see blue birds fly far from here, and those left behind will find
The strength to cope. those baby birds will fly, fly away from the burning smoke
stick this dagger
in this chest
make it hurt
like you do best

i sink it deeper
because i want control
and spend all summer
looking for what you stole
 Aug 2017 JJ Hutton
Kim Lang
When is it the right time
To open the closet door
To look in on a journey paused
To risk the truth and find
Boxes taped up with angry haste
Adventures stifled within four walls

When is the right time
To sit with the papers, the moments, the times
To make the decisions
To be brave in the face of pain and find
Cherished moments stuffed haphazardly away
Flashes of beauty smothered by a storm

When is the right time
To laugh, to cry, to hate, to mourn
To acknowledge the truth
To risk the unpredictable path that leads to
A heart ready, open for healing
And a closet - with room for someone else
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