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 Jul 2014 Mary
ThingsWillChange
I don't want to cry tonight
I don't want to hate myself tonight
I don't want to hurt tonight
I don't want to die inside tonight

Depression
Self hate
Paranoia
Dying inside

The tears won't fall
The hate won't stop
The fear won't fade
The feeling won't leave

Tomorrow is the day I don't want to spend choking back a sob
Tomorrow is the day I don't want to spend judging myself
Tomorrow is the day I don't want to spend fearing the others
Tomorrow is the day I don't want to spend dead

Tomorrow is when I spend the day with friends
Tomorrow is when I spend the day with family
Tomorrow is when I spend the day one year older
Tomorrow is my birthday

I don't want to silently cry while my friends are asleep
I don't want to grab the razor and drag it across my skin while my family is asleep
I don't want to fear a new day while the world is asleep
I don't want to die while the night is new

Please for tomorrow stop the tears
Please for tomorrow stop the judging
Please for tomorrow stop the fear
Please don't let me die tomorrow

I'll be thirteen tomorrow
I'll be thirteen on July 25th
I'll be thirteen at 3:30PM
I'll be fine tomorrow,

Right?
 Jul 2014 Mary
Rj
??
 Jul 2014 Mary
Rj
??
It's funny that I don't know who I'm writing these poems about.
The scatter of dreams
scattering shadows it seems that
rise,
open eyes and it's clear that
morning is here,
Summer has come,
I sit watching shadows run up the wall,
fall back and rise,
open eyes and they're gone.
I shatter what matters and scatter more dreams
and it seems like
yesterday.
 Jul 2014 Mary
AndrewKHill
Nicotine
 Jul 2014 Mary
AndrewKHill
I became addicted to nicotine
when I was only seventeen.
The sensation is like no other,
It makes you want another.

Your cells dance and prance,
iust ask the hedonists of France
To the priests that say malediction,
I say it’s the best addiction.

Yet the utopian feeling
is invariably temporal.
I thought I was heeling,
but my body is not eternal.

Kierkegaard says it’s theft,
sensation that deprives you and others.
but in the end there is nothing left,
albeit the crying mothers,
await the return of their children’s vestige.
 Jul 2014 Mary
Addison René
i miss my blonde summer
hair
i miss the way you were
there
and how when we talked about nothing
and it always turned into
something
i miss the hazy days
together
and the way they went on
forever
sometimes though,
i felt
alone
and sometimes though,
you were
home
(whenever i was with you)
but most times though,
you
weren't
and that
hurt
and now i know i was
wrong
for believing you when
you sang your stupid, stupid
songs
quivering lips softly
bitten
while the end was starting to be
written
i really did
care....
guess it's too good to be true
when he makes you feel like you're dancing on air
 Jul 2014 Mary
Spirk Burkham
hello poetry,
it's been a while.
I haven't looked at you since the last time I was upset
and needed something
or someone
to help me.
this time, though,
I am not here to dump
all of my pent up rage
frustration
confusion
noise
on you.
Instead I intend to share
all of my pent up joy
wonder
ideas
italics
music
with you.

now to you it may be noise-
I never said I was any good-
but in the end, someone will hear
and that's what I'm counting on
It's been a while.
 Jul 2014 Mary
starling
Untitled
 Jul 2014 Mary
starling
how do I tell you how afraid I am

of the air in between us when you untangle yourself from me—

how do I tell you that the sweat evaporating on my skin

chills me like linoleum hospital floors,

like january lakes and mountains



and I am snow, but please,

let me melt under you
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