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 Aug 2017 L Seagull
Tiffany
Short
 Aug 2017 L Seagull
Tiffany
A Family meeting called,
We sat in the living room,
Together in open space
“Been years,” I said.
You sat at the corner of the couch
Looking like a raisin shriveled up, knees brought to your chest—
Like a child.
Me wondering when you got so short.
Were you always this short?
Because I remember you standing and roaring
Over me.
Tony, leading the meeting says, “Say something nice about Mom.”
And y’all did.
Y’all all managed to sputter and heap praises at her feet.
Tony said, “You (pointing at me) tell Mom something you
Like about her, too.”
I cleared my throat and looked dead at her, “I don’t know you Anymore,
And given all the wrong you've done to me, It’s difficult to find Something nice to say, I’m sorry.”
Afterwards, y’all told me how cruel I was, asking me, “why couldn’t you Just go along?”
“I went along,” I said. “And honesty can be cruel, but necessary, Right?”
I wanted to scream, that’s what I really wanted to do.
Scream to the world all she had done to me,
Like when she choked me to the point of near death because I was
Always the easy one to blame, or the time she threw my baby kitten
Out the window to crash on an asphalt road. What happened, I still
Wonder, to that small kitten. More than likely, it died. Or the time
She slapped me across the face and called me a ***** because
I put on cherry lipstick. I was only eleven years old. Or when she
Refused to sign my FASFA forms so that I could go to college, Telling me, “Trash can’t go to college.”
Or…"just get over it,” y’all say, interrupting me.
“I could get over it if the things done to me were at least Acknowledged,”
I said, done with y'all, too, and walked off.
 Aug 2017 L Seagull
Hadrian Veska
I'm foolish.
I know its true,
But they tell me I am foolish
For all the wrong reasons.

They tell me I'm foolish
For believing in something more;
For not buying in
To the nihilism of the day.

They tell me I'm foolish
For not accepting their truth,
When they themselves
Call truth relative.

I know I'm a fool
And I know I'm not wise,
But I'm not dumb enough
To believe this is all chance.

That you and I,
The plants and trees,
This beautiful world,
And the stars above,

Where all a grand accident.
Systems upon systems
Arising from nothing
For no purpose at all.

Even a fool can see
That there is something more,
Something more to this life
Than random chance and time.

There is a brilliance in everything,
From an atom to a galaxy.
Everything is connected
Because that is the way they were made.

Not a slow mindless progression
Of positive accidents
That somehow across millennia
Produced irreducibly complex systems,

But a guided process,
By a steady hand.
Giving everything its purpose,
Including you and I.

It is no wonder the meaning of life
Is asked so often,
By people who deny
That life has any meaning.

The meaning was there all along,
Whether it is denied or not.
There it yet remains
Patiently waiting.

For the simple eyes of a fool,
Who sees things as how they are
And not how someone else
Wants them to be.
 Aug 2017 L Seagull
OnwardFlame
Like a dark blue galaxy
Covered in impressionistic white dots
My eyelids feel heavy today.

I laid on the floor of the gold room
(My favorite room)
In the spa
And a series of questions
Seeking answers
Normally floods my mind
But this time I let it drift
In and out
With eager hands
I did not beg for the guidance
I typically long for
But just lay in quiet
Exhaustion
And my own indulgent defeat.

I think and I hope
This to shall pass
My father hasn't been living with my mother
For several months now
I hope she has stopped counting
I have.

Call out culture
Built from the desire
The need
To openly vocalize
Discrepancies
On the technological plane
We exist on
As much
If not more than
Life.

It is nights like this
Where I would gladly take
The questioning of my uncertainty
The stress of making **** happen
Than the iron cold feeling
Of defeat.

The eclipse is tomorrow
Don't burn your eyes
I think I'll hibernate
And shift my focus.

We play so hard
Because we work so hard
And the world is every bit
Challenging.
 Aug 2017 L Seagull
wordvango
my voice
what shall I make of it
so strong deep
such an instrument

may I make a tool of healing
or enlightenment
a fool of myself
with unreasoning

or further man's evolvement
supreme or
cause any one to gain faith
strength or  reason

a bit more reasonable
if that would be  the depth
I gladly accept
when the time comes for me to pass
they shall lay me neath the shadow cast
by the great oak standing silent, true
watching over me
and you
when light wind blows
in sunlight's trance
I hear your whispers
through leaves they dance
I take your hand
o'er the fields we stroll
your head on my shoulder
as the church bell toll
in the mood for something a bit less dark
i think once you've wondered about stars and pondered determinism
and sat in a lake in the dark and the calm
and listened to loon calls that echo like rolling thunder
and seen the reflection of the moon in the water
i think maybe then you stop caring so much
about mosquitoes on your leg
or stitches in your side
(if maybe not about missed calls
or skated-over questions)
i think once you learn that nothing is a contract
that no one exists for you
and you exist for no one
once you've heard a thousand voices
and still find that you remember theirs
i think then maybe you can feel that the weight
the particles of existence lay forever on your skin
is not a weight
but a nod from the abyss
a kiss from the universe, whispering
goodnight sweet impermanent softness
goodnight wingless butterfly beauties
goodnight precious pointless seekers of the seekless
goodnight limited
goodnight limitless
goodnight home
if luck were a thing of flesh and blood
how lucky you'd be
to have nothing expected of you
in this patchwork of nothingness sewn from a thread
that never took your insecurity
your fear, your love
that never took your anything into account
when it drew speckled stars across darkened water
and bounced echoing birdcalls
haphazardly against your eardrums
 Aug 2017 L Seagull
wordvango
may I sit once
here on the bank of the river
and just see
and not metaphor the flow
or analogy the limbs
with one finger sticking out of the water
just feel the sand under me and not count
every one and try to name them
it gets wearisome
being a poet
on a lonesome creek
sitting on my ***
on a bank
Who doesn't believe their child when they speak?
Every time they speak,
It's the devil's speech.
Mother and Father I beseech you!
Why have I never been treated equal?
All you do is ridicule and judge,
Our dear Lord must be crying in the Heavens up above.
Witnessing a child who never experienced love,
Not by them.
Not by these devils,
The parents I'm supposed to "love."
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