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Touch me,
it doesn't matter where
and it doesnt matter how
I need to know I'm still alive
so someone touch me now
Shake my hand and say hello
or pat me on the back
kiss me on the cheek
that I may feel this sense I lack
slap my face and pull my hair
make me bleed I just don't care
dig your nails into my skin
so I can feed this need within
I've been numb for such a time
that even pain would be sublime
so touch me, touch me now
I don't care where, I don't care how
Follow me on Twitter @athomashawkins
http://twitter.com/athomashawkins
 Sep 2014 K Hanson
Jack
~


What of this sun that warms my back
Tempting me to turn around
Pleading for my attention
Over an anxious landscape of questions
Geometric outcroppings of thought
And life goes on beyond its light

Blue sky swan dives fall eternal
On the brink of feelings conjured
Draping over azure dreams
Becoming slower minutes crawling
Down wretched pathways
Leading to all voided expectations

Yet time will come and go
As high above me lay sheltered wishes
Which I harness in tethered ideas
Collecting on shoulders of heated display
Brushing off doubts uninspired
Turning to face this sun…brightly unaffected
 Sep 2014 K Hanson
Hollow
Open
 Sep 2014 K Hanson
Hollow
I hope that it hurts
When I spill my guts to you
At least I still feel
 Sep 2014 K Hanson
Dean Eastmond
I'm filled to the brim with emptiness. I'm a living paradox.
 Sep 2014 K Hanson
Dean Eastmond
your words form universes of northern lights,
diluted by stars and the constellations
of your cold lips against mine.
whole mountain ranges sigh and creak,
standing on their tiptoes,
reaching for the moon, for your rhymes,
for you,
to be dissolved into snowcapped hours,
where broken typewriter keys align
with earthquakes and forgotten mistakes.
you are a waterfall, an unexplored ocean,
the yellow of maps from other people's adventures.
you are every undressed superlative
that creaks my floorboards
and casts across my walls
as starlight.
 Sep 2014 K Hanson
Dean Eastmond
cheap makeup covered
the purple marks of his "masculinity"
forced upon her in the hours of
coal, coldness and blame.

before it got too much,
I saw her stand on her tiptoes
and dissolve into the night sky,
into the night gutters,
into the night cries,
of pills, diets and mutters.

and right as the moon
swallowed her whole,
only to spit her out onto
guilt soaked mornings;
she survived.
written for the survivor of domestic violence, someone I adore.
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