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 Feb 2014 Mada
Andrea
This rain is cold and it just started to pour but I must brave it
I look in the back seat for some sort of protection

     I can't help but grin as I uncover a large dark blue umbrella.

I step out of the warmth of my car and start the trek across campus.

this umbrella is an old one
I remember this umbrella at the bus stop in elementary school.

                                                               ­     I stare at my feet as I walk
                                                            ­        left
                                                    ­                                                   right
                                                           ­          left
                                                                ­                                       right
                                                           ­                                        and suddenly I am back in elementary school
                                                                ­                                                                 ­    at the bus stop in the rain
                                                                ­         with an umbrella big enough to shelter me and all my friends

                                                     on days when it rained bad mom would let me use her big blue umbrella
                                                        ­                                                                 ­   it always made me think of her

                                                            ­                                         think of my mom at work safe from the rain
                                                            ­                                                    think of her coming home after school
                                                                ­                                    making her first drink and going to her room

                                                           ­     she did so much just for us to get by
                                                              ­      I always knew the little things
                                                          ­                  like giving me her umbrella
                                                        ­        were all she could manage

                                                         ­         I step in a particularly deep puddle

and now I am a college student again
thinking of my mom at home safe from the rain
while I scurry across campus in the middle of the night

back then she couldn't handle much more than an umbrella and a kiss on the head

when you're depressed everything is overwhelming you know?

Now I'm the depressed one, and nothing in the world sounds better then my mom giving me her umbrella and dropping a kiss on my head.....
 Jan 2014 Mada
Andrea
being in the presence of a person who must know everything

is drastically different than being by myself,
     because I want nothing more than to obliviously exist
            to only know what I have to

I have a hard enough time processing what happened years ago

and it just amazes me that you, who has been through so much,
      who has seen and done and survived all these things I can't even imagine
              that you still ask questions. that you still don't hide from these things.

You make me feel like a coward with all of your questions

But you also make me realize that maybe
       I should start hunting my own monsters actively
            maybe I should ask more questions

and maybe the answer to your ever pressing question
of how oil and vinegar became such fast friends
is that we needed someone completely opposite
                                                        to keep ourselves afloat
 Oct 2013 Mada
Andrea
A friend asked me how I always managed to stay so happy
                    And my immediate thought was 'they think I'm happy?'

So I start to think how I can be so depressed
               Yet appear so happy
While pondering this misconception
           My thoughts stumble and stutter to a stop
                                         I seem to have a road block in my mind
                                urging me to turn around and never look back
                      So obviously I surge forward and find
            A wall that I have built in my head that is clearly labeled
"THINGS TO PRETEND AREN'T HAPPENING: BEWARE"
       This strikes my interest even more.

So I step forward....

As soon as I near the wall it starts to rumble and shake
I reach forward and lay a hand on the wall
                           The stones
                                   start
                                               to
                              fall
                         And the sturdy wall
                         Starts
                                                   to
                           Crumble

and the memories surge forward
A tidal wave of suppressed stress, and pain

Is this what it's like to drown?

How much of my life don't I remember?
How much of those forgotten things can I actually handle?

Is this what it's like to drown?

These memories range from minor to major
And I have no time to sort through them
As they continue to assault me
I can't breathe

Is this what it's like to drown?

I hear a voice say 'hey are you okay? You don't have to answer me.'

I look at my friend who asked such a simple question
      and received such a complex response
             and manage to gasp out

'This is what it's like to drown'
 Apr 2013 Mada
Mike Hauser
It all about has become meaningless

This affair between paper and pen

There's a new emptiness it's giving me

Where I am all but spent

Does it truly change the attitude

Or calm the savage beast

At one time I had hoped

It would fill that darkened need

That need if any has run it's course

As all things must in time

What I thought I found was freedom

But the freedom wasn't mine

It has stolen all it could

When I held out my hand to dance

Dined on my heart and emotions

I never stood a chance

I stand here naked in my innocence

Having given it all to poetry

Hanging now with outstretched arms

On it's cross is where I bleed
 Apr 2013 Mada
JL
Untitled
 Apr 2013 Mada
JL
The whole poetry thing is horse crap
I've read better words on receipt backs
Prescription Pill Bottles
Labels Billboards Words
Spilling out in a constant horde
Fire Please light it all on fire
I'll watch your words pour black smoke
A burning tire
Some people wake up
To automatic gunfire
Primate, your environment constantly spins
Living in holes smoking crack with your
"Friends"
Tuned out I step from a third story window
Leaving two daughters and a pill head widow
Tired of seeing my pack torn apart from within
Alcohol sleeping pills its fun to pretend
Just trying to be alive! But
My poetry comes out so cheap and contrived
 Mar 2013 Mada
Lyra Brown
i was wearing a black and white
striped dress
one said i looked like beetlejuice
some said I looked like a mime
some said I reminded them of a prisoner
others said I looked like a barcode

i was all of those things
and none of those things
all
at
once
 Mar 2013 Mada
John F McCullagh
The day they knocked the Towers down
He thought he heard his nation's call
He signed his name on the dotted line.
Off he went to train for war.

Just five days into his first tour
insurgents, in a fire fight,
put a bullet in his spine
in a war commenced by George's spite.

He never after walked again.
He felt a burden to his wife.
Time and time again
he lay beneath a surgeons knife.

Until at last he said "enough"
I've had enough of this half life.
No food or drink would he accept,
his only path to that good night.

Before the soldier's "final tour"
Before he joined our honored dead.
He wrote a letter to George Bush
and this is what the soldier said:

Ten years have passed now since the day
a bullet left me half a man.
A victim of an unjust war.
Your vendetta I can't understand.

I hope someday you can accept
some blame and guilt for all your crimes.
For spending young Americans
on bootless wars in foreign climes.
A soldier wounded in the early days of the Iraq war writes an open letter condemning George Bush for  the Iraq adventure.  The soldier, rendered a paraplegic is committing suicide by hunger strike. this is based on a true story
 Mar 2013 Mada
EGDarling
I promised you i’d plant those **** pink roses but
that Sunday morning that you broke me in ways
even my best friend didn’t think was possible

and i realized it was probably a good thing
that the whole thing was a production of strictly pretend;
a play, a script, an authors first mistake-

that day, i clipped every last flower
off and set the remains in a little drawer
with shards of glass i broke in my sleep
because i loved you every single day

despite my
i’m over you i’m over you i’m over you
that i repeated with the foolish hope of
convincing somebody that air still funnels through my lungs

and it’s come to my attention that
i’d pick my head over my heart but that is only
because i am a toy car abandoned by every single
pair of hands to wind it up and let it go

And yes, I will reduce my emotions to dust or
enlarge them in full zoom but
I cannot get over that fact that the clementines rotted in front
of us and

you devoured the part of me that let my heart reign over
my head and snapped the key to my rib cage;

you promised you would keep it safe and
you *lied
 Mar 2013 Mada
Hannah
When I was nine years old
my best friend died.
I didn't attend the funeral,
my mother did instead.
I cried because that's what your supposed to do.
Laying in the center of the room,
Labored breathing, clenched fist.

When I was thirteen years old
my best friend gave up on me.
She dismissed me like yesterdays news.
Sadness perched on my shoulder,
Lurked in every corner
of every room.
Stayed with me every night.
Wishing for tears but they disobliged.

I found comfort in the darkness,
faint music in the background.
No more Saturday nights creeping out,
only being crept on.
The blade's beginning  to whine.
Demons, demons come and play.
Red River Flood all over again.
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