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 Nov 2013 Maria
Cameron Godfrey
This one isn't about you.
Don't worry, though, the next one probably will be.  
But this one, I promise, won't be about you.
It won't be about how you left
Or how you lied
Or how you made me feel
It won't be about the good times gone rotten
Or the times I let you control me
This one isn't about you
Or about my feelings for you
The feelings that were my fatal flaw.
This one doesn't even concern you.
It doesn't even mention the way you tore me apart
And then pretended I was the one who hurt you
This one isn't about the time I told you how I felt
The time when I told you I was broken
And you blamed ME for breaking you.
No, this one isn't about you.
****. It's always about you, isn't it?
 Nov 2013 Maria
Aaron McDaniel
I want you to know
Being unrealistic
Being risky
Being hazardous
It's a lifestyle

I swore off the L word

I would've said it for you
He walks through the door,
and my stomach knows it before my eyes.
As though in a trance,
the room blurs and buzzes around me.

His gaze finds mine,
and a rosy blush creeps up my cheeks.
As he smiles at me,
I feel a chill tickling its way down my spine.
Goosebumps emerge across my arms,
and not entirely because of the frigid air
of this pale day.

The butterflies are in a frenzy,
twittering and fluttering around my mind,
making my fingers tremble slightly.
They excite my pulse,
and my heart starts to race
upon hearing those butterflies sing.

When he laughs,
I can't help but do the same,
the things he says
resonating in my head,
keeping a shy smile on my face
at even the dreariest times of day.
 Nov 2013 Maria
Circa 1994
#RANT
 Nov 2013 Maria
Circa 1994
I don't like people that use the word "epic".
I don't like people that are overly optimistic.
I don't like people that "read twilight before it got popular".
I don't like the cold.
I don't like insults disguised as compliments.
I don't like tardiness.
I don't like
I don't
I do
I do like
I do like people that wear ironic t-shirts.
I do like people with green eyes.
I do like people that are awkward.
I do like raw cookie dough.
I do like writing ****** stories.
I do like you.
Rant over.
 Nov 2013 Maria
Amber S
Bambi
 Nov 2013 Maria
Amber S
she licked her lips, tasted a pinch of salt.
"i’m not like other girls"
isn’t that what every other girl says?
****** bambi eyes, eyelashes curled in a q.
he drinks until she cries, scared she will be
shot. imagine pretty little petals upon pretty little
thighs.
"i’m not like other girls"
ringlets, hair bouncing waves upon waves upon
ocean, sea, tidal
waves.
he smokes until she dances, in circles, through
vapors, underneath a table that holds too much
quick *** and liquor.
"i’m not like other girls"
and he could have said, “i’m not like other boys”
but he was broke, in denial, in and out of love, in and out of
hotel rooms.
words sound so much more appealing in darken
rooms.
"no, bambi dear, no you’re not."
 Nov 2013 Maria
Amber S
I had chewed up lips and a consciousness that slipped between your fingers and my thin laced skin. I was fifteen, in love with you and pointy objects and the desire to one day feel alive.

Nights were our favorites. You held me high on your shoulders while I spread my arms and screamed. Your fingers pricked my thighs and I could feel your molecules forming with my molecules and when I saw my breath coming in little puffs of cotton ***** in the air all I could think of, Is this what life is?

Sometimes you would run with me on your shoulders and I had to latch on for dear life. My nails in your gold speckled hair, “Don’t you dare close your eyes,” you’d say and I’d cry from the wind, from the adrenaline, from the thought of you ever letting go. Little crystal streams ending nowhere.

But eventually, you did, you dropped me hard and fast and I fell upon the cold frosted grass. No warning, no squeeze of assurance. The wind knocked out of me, tears freshly stained upon acne scarred cheeks. I tried to lift my head to see you, but you were gone. All I had was the tethered swing set, the stars. And this is what life is, I thought. It’s flying until you can’t. Falling until you cannot breathe and then it’s over.
With a thud.
The glowing jacinth sun was just beginning its descent,
casting long, flittering shadows on horse and rider alike.
Although the horse was young, he walked
with an air of importance,
like a racer entering the track.
As the playful breeze rustled the viridian leaves,
his muscles tensed.
He perked up like a toy soldier,
watching the purpling sky with wary eyes,
the amaranthine clouds reflected in those deep sable orbs.

As he trotted about like a fairy,
his russet coat shone vibrantly in the setting sun,
a body of twinkling rubies set in amber.
The sprite padded softly on the ground
with the delicate nature of a hummingbird,
he had a stride like a river of sweet milk and honey.

The chestnut dreamer skipped across the ground
like notes across a page,
his song light and airy.
he tiptoed and pirouetted,
his three pearly stockings dancing
like the melodious keys of a piano.

Her cinnabar savior bounded over the fences
like a prancing stag,
and his dainty ears pricked forward
as his chocolate-brown eyes fixed on the obstacle ahead.
As he jumped, he lit up with a bravery
that could have been felt all throughout the arena.
Had the two not been alone,
the entrancing sight would have been easily able to charm his way
into the hearts of even the stoniest of onlookers.

With a gleeful snort,
the sunny gelding seemed to fill the air
with good-natured laughter.
The rider reached down to give him a pat,
and he brightened at her touch,
the pet like a kiss on his glossy ginger neck.

And as the last of the daylight filtered away
into the velvety mazarine sky,
his neck stretched down and his walk slowed.
Satisfied with their ride, the two made their way back inside,
surrounding by the growing darkness.
 Oct 2013 Maria
Cameron Godfrey
I like to deny we were ever in love
I'll say we were stupid and naive and young
But it used to be there and it used to be real
How do I rid of what I used to feel?
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