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 Apr 2013 Madi
brooke
Sunk Cork.
 Apr 2013 Madi
brooke
I have kept you here
for too long, asking
for things you can
not even give, i have
not loved you properly
and have self-righteously
shouted to the world
what not to do in
love when I
am just as
much at
fault.
(c) Brooke Otto

Emptying my drafts.
 Apr 2013 Madi
Hilda
I am heartbroken my husband so dear
That all my aspirations seem to die
Nor brighten your days with sunshine and cheer
And make thy heaviest burdens to fly.
Forgive my frail human attempts in vain,
Sparkling gold turned into bitter dross,
My failure to palliate ev'ry pain,
Highest dreams and goals fading into loss.
So I pray to be an ideal wife;
Make each oncoming day a golden dream
Flood radiant sunshine into your life
So each new moment doth sparkle and gleam.
O! May this humble sonnet to thee prove
Truest heartfelt token of my deep love.

**~Hilda~
For my husband Timothy.  © Hilda April, 2013.
 Mar 2013 Madi
Cali
perpetually human,
romanticizing the madness
of a world that's come undone.
oil paintings of the sea
hang upon the walls of our minds
and we marvel at the sorrow
mimicking beautiful colors.

cryptic fingers stroke our egos
and tell us that we will persevere,
that we are the ******
of evolutionary prose.
lunar rays beam down on us,
shrouding us in a gentle glow
and we almost believe
that we could be infinite.
 Mar 2013 Madi
Cali
past tense
 Mar 2013 Madi
Cali
it's too late to fret
about decisions made
and ties cut, past tense.
it's hard to see it
without the glaring minutiae
of my demise.
I'm scanning the walls
for a change of subject-
Polaroids and butterfly carcasses,
city skyline sketches
and old cigarette advertisements
in gilt gold frames;
satisfy yourself.

my mind is saturated
with degenerate cogitation-
a stew of pantheons
and painstaking nihilism.
my bones are brittle
and begging to break
and my eyes are growing heavy,
with the weight of it all.
 Mar 2013 Madi
Kelly Conidi
Come on now,
sit,
indulge in this dream.
Don't even worry,
It's buried underneath.
Where i lie,
and i don't know you anymore.
 Mar 2013 Madi
theatrerose
Feelings
 Mar 2013 Madi
theatrerose
Do you ever feel that you don't know what to write?
How can you expect me to articulate everything through words?
How is it all supposed to make sense when I don't even know how to respond?

Do you ever feel that you could be wrong?
How can you know so surely that I'm the one you want to be with?
How is it possible that you could feel this way after a few speckled moments ?

Do you ever feel I'm not worth it?
How can you still want this after everything that's happened?
How is it still that you play endless stings of harmony with me in mind?

Do you ever feel I'm just a muse?
 Mar 2013 Madi
jara
Searching
 Mar 2013 Madi
jara
Tryna stop these tears but they keep on coming
Life is too much I think its bout time I stop running
Running from the problem cause its not gonna leave
Life itself has become my own pet peeve

Rather know the truth cause the lies I can't take
Tryna find happiness but seems like all my heart do is ache
Left alone just one time to many
Has my worth feeling less than a penny

Wonder if its possible to be happy around me
But its not about jara so I just let people be
Try not to take it personal like monica said
But when its said and done I'm crying all night in my bed

Listening to this dude rhyme on the train
When all he wants is to get paid and maybe fame
makes me feel privileged as I look out my window pane
Not tryna whine cuz that's not what I do
Ask anyone I'm as sweet as honey melon dew
 Mar 2013 Madi
Anais Nin
"Why one writes is a question I can never answer easily, having so often asked it of myself. I believe one writes because one has to create a world in which one can live. I could not live in any of the worlds offered to me – the world of my parents, the world of war, the world of politics. I had to create a world of my own, like a climate, a country, an atmosphere in which I could breathe, reign, and recreate myself when destroyed by living. That, I believe, is the reason for every work of art.
...
"We also write to heighten our own awareness of life. We write to lure and enchant and console others. We write to serenade our lovers. We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection. We write, like Proust, to render all of it eternal, and to persuade ourselves that it is eternal. We write to be able to transcend our life, to reach beyond it. We write to teach ourselves to speak with others, to record the journey into the labyrinth. We write to expand our world when we feel strangled, or constricted, or lonely … When I don’t write, feel my world shrinking. I feel I am in prison. I feel I lose my fire and my color. It should be a necessity, as the sea needs to heave, and I call it breathing."
('The New Woman', 1974)
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