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there is still
space
for love in your
sadness.
 Feb 2018 Joy Onyango
alexa
you will never be forgotten.
ever.
your name twisted into metaphors and colors and distractions will forever
be painted across pages and pages of her favorite brand of notebook,
no matter how many she burns
there will always be one she forgot,
and she will only find it once she had almost forgotten you.
she will find the one Papyrus notebook
and all of your metaphors and colors and disractions will come flooding back,
just like how the ocean in your eyes
flooded her heart all those years ago.
"She was an
unusual dresser.
Every night,
she wore bruises
on her heart,
love on her lips,
pain in her eyes,
and ink on her fingers.
They called her poetry."
again
I’m crashed
against the wall of solitude
again
the flight of waiting
inexorably went down
again
I'm not even worth a no to you
only silence
absence
[ ]
I’m alone in my lonelyness
 Feb 2018 Joy Onyango
Téa Rhyno
I used to like a lot of things
But now the magic’s gone,
So here’s a list of things I hate
Sorry if I ramble on…

I hate the way my voice sounds
When I’m talking to my "friends"

I hate the long and lonely nights
They never seem to end

I hate the sunlight in my eyes
The tears steadily fall

I hate the people in this house
My Mom, my Dad, I hate them all

I hate the way my body looks
I hate the fat and curves

I hate the way my brain functions
I’m always on my own nerves

I hate that I’m forced to write
Just to keep my memory

I hate the people I cry over
When they were happy leaving me

I hate that I rely on drugs
To keep me in a decent mood

I hate that my body physically rejects
all attempts at eating food

I hate that I'm always sorry
For things that aren’t my fault

I hate the thoughts my brain creates
I can’t deal with the assault

I hate all of the little things
Hanging on my shelf

But the one thing that I hate the most
Is how much I hate myself
 Feb 2018 Joy Onyango
Mitch Prax
I keep all my emotions
In a treasure chest
under the oceans
much to my unrest.
I squeezed them all in
and threw away the key;
may as well have been the bin
or the bottom of the sea.
No wonder I have none left
to wear on my face;
to fill this empty cleft
or give me lasting grace.
No, I have put them in lines
Through ink and paper
Through artistic designs
And through every stanza.
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