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 Oct 2014 Megan Grace
brooke
I crave the dens,
the brick caves strung
with lights where no
one is above the murmur
where girls come to leave
necklaces wrapped in lined
notebook paper (here, take
this, take this from me, please
)
and the various spaces are lined
with a thick aroma of espresso
and the burberry perfume from
the woman at the table over whose
thighs could stretch across the atlantic
but ships could never sail across her
in the way you can't tread over hot
coals, climb mount everest in a day
or ask her out for coffee.
(c) Brooke Otto 2014
 Oct 2014 Megan Grace
brooke
149th.
 Oct 2014 Megan Grace
brooke
I miss the things I never
did, the ferry ride I never
took, the brittle cold that
sunk to the depths of my
toes and the sushi place
down the street from my
house. You can whisper
that I'm doing the same
thing but I miss the leaves
at EDCC and the rain,
quality frozen yogurt
and the front row at
Loews Theater, I miss
the sound of my wheels
privy to the Boeing freeway

You can whisper that I'm feeling
the same way but I miss things I
don't recognize, the drive past
the lighthouse and the neighbor
who had music too loud, the
shy cashier at Fred Meyer
and also their apple
display that was
aesthetically
pleasing.
(c) Brooke Otto 2014

(A Dear God Letter.
 Oct 2014 Megan Grace
brooke
Stigma
 Oct 2014 Megan Grace
brooke
i had a dream I
was loving you
but it was not
that           simple            for
you
and i left
wearing a hospital
gown
(c) Brooke Otto 2014
 Oct 2014 Megan Grace
gd
I'm finding it harder
and harder to express my
emotions and that's what scares me
the most: that when I'm buried six feet under
—lifeless and still—I will just become a product,
the dirt and the dust of the rest of this mediocre coexistence.
The emotions I have yet to form into sculptures and arrays of
picturesque light-scapes will have disintegrated with me under
the weight of the dying roots of every tree that was meant
to grow but never had the chance to. And in that
moment, wherever I may reside, I will realize
I have become the metaphor for the
tree that never lived—
filled with life but
restricted from the
ever present sun
light behind the
rest of  a  l  l  the
other towering
oaks from down
the path. It will
not suffice; this
lack of emotion
will never suffice
for me. Yet if I am
meant to live, why
do I already feel dead?

gd
{I'm finding myself question my anxiousness to its core, and whether or not it's all worth something in the end}
 Oct 2014 Megan Grace
Beth Taylor
you should’ve never unpacked your bags,
because it gave me this expectation that you were in this for the long run. i’m still running. i have swallowed so much blood that tastes like your regret from biting down my tongue to cage it behind my teeth from screaming about you to a world that wants my blood for ink.
i am more than a number, but 24 makes me feel better than 26, so i sit in jeans that leave red marks on my hips and make it hard to breathe, but see it’s two inches and
i am more than a number, but i know every test score i ever got and still remember fourth grade and question three and crying because suddenly my mistakes had weight and i couldn’t fix things by saying sorry and
i am more than a number, but i was always the middle child, always the not-quite one, not the best friend to anyone, just a girl with kind eyes and jeans that are a little bit too tight and
i am more than a number but to you i am seventeen, ten and three. and lets be clear; it’s the three that haunts me, because *** doesn’t matter and ‘girlfriend’ is just a label, but i wish i was the first girl you truly loved, and sometimes i still wish i was the last, but with you i fear i’ll forever be just another number.
i drove over 17 bridges the other day and next week i'll do it again and i think nobody gets what that means except maybe you.
i just tell them i love the scenery, that somebody must've made these trees blush just for me.
you know how i love to change the subject?
i bet they'd love the view. i bet you would too.
and all these metaphors for other things are beside the point.
this is a metaphor for why i don't wear my seatbelt, a metaphor for why whiskey knows me better than you could ever try to.
all the buildings seemed to sag yesterday and all the stars are doing that cliche thing where they talk quiet jet noise and some lumbering giant made everything shake.
not those hand metaphors, not another one of those & keep the sea to yourself,
i think it was a train, it's sound hugged the embankment for a moment and then trailed off into nowhere,
and that's kind of like me
how there's a town called 'rescue' close to my home and it's no coincidence that i've never been there.
i’m just flatlining now and hoping that you can look at the next girl the way i looked at you.
 Oct 2014 Megan Grace
marina
i want you to tell
me that none of this
matters,
that one day i will
be okay, someday soon
i'll forget about pain
i am tired
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