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She tells me that
she's weird,
and
that she doesn't know how
someone like me
would even talk to
someone like her.
Honestly, if she is weird,
then I have been living
a very bland life,
and I'd rather
join in on insanity with her.

She's got eyes like the
Earth itself,
and long brown hair
like the Weeping Willow
in October. I want
to see her morph into the
disastrous hurricane that
she claims to be;
I want to transform her
into the pearl
that she really is.

I want to observe her
and find out what
makes her tick,
and what
makes her smile.
(She's got the most beautiful smile.)
I want to travel to
New York City
and dance with her in the rain
until she is smiling to
the sky again.
And in the city of bright lights,
her eyes were the brightest.
 Dec 2015 kellkaym
Samantha Dietz
She exhaled, smoke floating from the lips that longed to be pressed against his. The taste of tobacco and chemicals lingered as she watched the cloud dissipate. She sighed and turned her attention to the trees swaying outside, naked with the exception of a thin layer of snow. The sun was finally falling out of view, painting the sky pink and purple on the horizon. She put the cigarette to her lips again, so routinely, as she has done for six years, and she waited. Anxiety grew within her, for the moon was not rising fast enough. She was anxious because she knew with each falling of the sun and rising of the moon, she was even just the slightest bit closer to holding the whole world in her arms again. Her eighteen year old body carried such an enormous weight because she was helpless. She spent every minute trying to rush the stars into shining in the night and the birds into chirping in the morning, to bring her closer to the most grand reunion. Meanwhile, all she could do was chainsmoke to pass the time.
 Dec 2015 kellkaym
Tupelo
After the towers fell,
My father went off to war,
12 months later he brought back the battlefield
We didn’t talk about it much as it just hung there,
Afraid of the left over land mines, we would tiptoe
around the room, through the kitchen, back to bed.
-
My mother is a bottle,
Empty now but the glass corpse still outlines her frame,
4 years sober, going on 5 after her brother click-clacked his way out of our lives,
I tattooed the day he passed on my arm,
1. to remember him and 2. to know that today is better than what my life once was,
-
I read somewhere that conversations are like knife fights,
Ive chosen my words carefully like dull blades,
So if I am ever to strike a nerve it won’t leave anyone bleeding,
I am afraid of blood.
I hate the smell,
the taste, the color of the stains it leaves,
The consistency,
I am afraid of bleeding,
I am too vulnerable in this world to hurt anymore,
Every breath closer to the minute i’ll break,
I am afraid to break and i worry about how many pieces I will leave in my wake
and if anyone will be there to pick them up and glue me back together,
Today I am happier than most days in these past years,
She has taught me patience,
All I worry about now is losing her warmth
a slam I've been working with
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