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What does it mean
To grow older
Are we gaining
Our best years
Or losing them?
 Sep 2014 Lauren Cole
Haruka
thing often fall apart
the same way
they came
together
My head is heavy
My brain is foggy
only your face is clear
I kiss your cheeks, forehead, lips
I laugh so brightly
Nothing could bring me down in this moment
You are my pinnacle
My love of a lifetime
You bring me joy
but you also bring me pain
once you are gone I feel empty
I crave you again and again
You're addictive, my love
and that can't be healthy
but I couldn't care less
because when I'm with you
I feel high
and happy
and free
And I wouldn't give that up for anything
Because I love what you do to me.
Kiss me to the sound of your favorite band
teach me what it is to feel alive
because I have been living so long
But it's been hard and troublesome
Until I met you

I can breath in the air
Taste the flavors on your tongue
I feel so free, and my heart won't stop pounding
I feel like an open vessel to the world
Oh, the way you make me feel

I've never felt this beautiful before
so emotional and human
So free from the numb
No longer hurting inside
I'm finally feeling, finally dreaming


I'm a born again sinner
except I seek no retribution
I want to delve into the world you occupy
with all its ***, drugs, and rock and roll
******* alive

Put your arms around me
Call me your girl
Kiss my lips, my neck, my hips
Because this is all so new
and I want it all

Call me baby
because I feel new
*All because of you
 Sep 2014 Lauren Cole
rsc
Is this a power hierarchy?
Does our dueling footwork
Convince us to
Lock into some sort of
Competitive symmetry,
Twisting into your
Mashed potato minefield with
Doo *** , doo dad laden
Dancing shoes?

Gimme your
Electronic sympathy, baby,
Infiltrate the airwaves with
Piercing eye contact and
Tremourous finger tip brushes.

Is my informality coming through?
Have I communicated with
Unlocked elbows and
Megaphone ears that not only
My body but universe
Lives here and in you?

Orient yourself to me,
I task while asking you to
Take off your straight jacket and
Stay a while. Unlock your
Pandora 's box so your
Monsters can meet mine,
Mirrored in different shades of
Shock and shame, operating under
Varied hues of the same name.

Lean into me, let your
Shoulders slender and shimmy to a
Tenderizing touch, the
Objects under your skin collapsing
To the 4/4 timed battle
Between form and perception.

The ingestion of the
Metaphor is the message, and
The tongue regards a tune
Differently than a taste.

Face symmetrical, nostrils work,
The blooming waste of consumption
Centered on the top right corner of
Your cheekbones.
I can't help but grab the
Slight upswing in the tone
Of your voice and spin it around;
Let's swing, darling.
I'd like to take your descriptors
On a date to the dance floor.

How long can we keep this up until meaning has waltzed out the door?
 Sep 2014 Lauren Cole
Eric
I was made for war
My hands are soft, my lungs are weak
I was made for war
I have no discipline, I live to feed my flesh
I was made for war
My mind………my mind………………
It still contains the coal
Hot, burning, aware, remembering that
I was made for war
My leathered soul, dust covered, grey still burns
I feel it whisper, because
I was made for war
Lord, Oh my Lord
Harden my hands
Open my lungs
Discipline my mind and
Teach me to starve my flesh
Because
I was made for war*.

[Ephesians 6:12-13]
I hoped that he would love me,
And he has kissed my mouth,
But I am like a stricken bird
That cannot reach the south.

For tho’ I know he loves me,
To-night my heart is sad;
His kiss was not so wonderful
As all the dreams I had.
I want to write again
I want to feel
Like I did back then
When my day depended
On the words I had chosen
-- The life I put
In my poems

I want to write again
I want to feel
The thrill of the pen
The delight that rushes through my veins
When the right words blend
The pain I endure
Once my thoughts
No longer make sense

I am exhilarated
When I start
Scribbling on paper
My heart at peace
As soon as I polish it
On my typewriter

I write again
I write
Like nothing ever happened
Like not a thing prevented me
Months at an end

I write again

I write
Because it is who I am
Because in time,
I always return
To my essence
-- That in the end,
Nothing feels quite right
Unless I am writing.

— The End —