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the culture club mix-tape section from nylon magazine completes me. sometimes I don’t feel like capitalizing the first letter to the first word of a new sentence. feelings can be so useless sometimes. I use the word sometimes too much. I think I am in love with Keaton Henson. I think I have a crush on one of my co-workers. I’d rather have a crush than be in love with you, it’ll last a while longer that way. I like coffee mugs, they are so comfortable to drink out of, they make me feel safe. I like it better when you’re warm, I want to give you warm feelings. I remember this one time I wrote the saddest poem I've ever written during one of the saddest points in my life, I sat there with legs crossed on the cold ground of a dim hallway on the third floor of the humanities building at school. It was on a yellow blue-lined sheet of paper, I folded it in three, I left it there anonymously and fled. I’ll never know who found that piece of me, perhaps no one ever did. every day is another year. I’m sorry, I always end up writing too much. I’m sorry, for being quite a crap person sometimes, truly I am. There are many things I’ll live to be sorry about, but I've no fault for the words inside of my head. All tomorrow’s parties are dead. Listen to The Babies all night with me instead.

Oh darling, save a place for me in your heart.
 Dec 2013 Keely Anne
brooke
while
worrying i
would never
wake up without
thinking of you first,
I realized i managed to see past
the thought of you today there's
so much of me  that's new, so much of
me i've never seen, and i've only ever taken the
first step but watch me, watch me take the second
and the third and crescendo far above the heavy thrum
of acoustic guitars,

but
didn't you
love.
that.
about me



anyway?
(c) Brooke Otto 2013
 Nov 2013 Keely Anne
Eevry Louis
Orange colored skies
Tales of burned empires
Days when party bosses were kings
In the era that Boss Tweed pulled the strings
I walk these city streets and each corner speaks volumes of history to me
But your street remains a mystery
Untouched and ivy grown
I hear the distant sounds of a trombone
Harlem calls to me to listen
Having never been there, i dont know what im missing
But i long for the days where jazz was the popular music
Back in the days of grand old acoustic
Bass, drums, piano, and trumpet
Cab Calloway, Count Basie and the beating of a drumstick
Im not certain i was born in the right age
But pondering ifs and or buts is the work of a sage
There is however one thing i know for sure
That in all of time and history, id like to be your cure
 Nov 2013 Keely Anne
Eevry Louis
Your passion is beautiful
I see it in your words
They dance off the page, pirouette and adagio
But they also march off to do battle
Spear in hand
Your desire to do good and to help the world
Floats, off into the distance, like a melody atop the clouds
And when you're sad
Those words drag, heavily along the paper's edge
Each letter piercing my heart
You compose these words, these sentences
And you are composed of these words, these sentences
They are every fiber of your being
Your heart and your soul
Your words are passionate
Your words are beautiful

And so are you.
 Oct 2013 Keely Anne
marina
i used to hate sundays,
but sometimes you hold
my hands in the pews
at church and i think that
i've been saved in more
ways than one
 Sep 2013 Keely Anne
Powers
threads
 Sep 2013 Keely Anne
Powers
You said your words always came in threads
Stitch me up
patch up my insercutries with your sewing machine lips
let me use them to sew the memory of you into the fabric of my mind
I want to embroider our broken pieces and make a quilt out of us
Once I spoke the language of the flowers,
Once I understood each word the caterpillar said,
Once I smiled in secret at the gossip of the starlings,
And shared a conversation with the housefly
in my bed.
Once I heard and answered all the questions
of the crickets,
And joined the crying of each falling dying
flake of snow,
Once I spoke the language of the flowers. . . .
How did it go?
How did it go?
 Jul 2013 Keely Anne
Sylvia Plath
"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"
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