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  May 2014 Michael Duong
Joshua Haines
If I want to die, I'll do it myself
I'll save a kid or some **** and make it look like I died a hero
But nah, I had a death wish.
Didn't any of you know?
I said it probably forty-million times.
It's cool the kid is alive, though.
And it's cool that this all rhymes.

Tell the kid while I convulse, choking on blood that  I said,
"Eat your vegetables. Stay in school. Being in love is really cool.
It's okay to be alone. It's okay to be afraid. Don't make the decision I made."

Then play some surfer music and have him stand in front of a projector,
projecting video waves and dreams, as they start to dance.

Honestly.
If I wanna die, it's by your side.
But you're gone.
Away.
It was too hard, and you're afraid.
I'm afraid, too. I don't wanna die.
But this isn't living, what I'm doing now.
It's survival, and it's just
blood and bone.
Eat and walk.
In a crowded room, alone.
Smile and talk.
I can't feel. I can't feel. Keep saying it: I can't feel.

But I feel it all, and if I want to die then it's by your side.
If I wanna die, then I want to talk to you before I go.
If I'm going to die then it's because it's hard to cope
knowing that I love you, and you love me, but you don't wanna anymore.
So I don't wanna anymore, anything.
I don't wanna be here.
I don't wanna be anywhere.
I don't wanna be.

I dream a lot now, more than before.
Reality has become the compass to a draining nothingness,
and I don't want to stick around.
Either way, I'll dream or think of nothing, and it couldn't be that bad.

"No one is worth taking your life over."
"It gets better."
"What if she wasn't the one?"

How do you know how I feel?
What if it doesn't?
What if she was?

Can I bathe in nihilism or is that too transparent?
Should I shake the salsa in the silver room of the Lisbeth Salander character arch or should I be in the ark, two by two, with Noah?
At least I'll be able to feel, taste, see the shine, relate to another's pain, realize a life, be next to one meant for me in the shelter of doom and eventual hope, and be with a man with as much certainty, perceived as crazy or brilliant as me.

Can you walk home to me?

To know that what I knew is what I may never know is something I don't want to know, and something I'll always know could be something I live for and by, and that's all I knew before and now I know nothing but that.

If I wanna die, then it's knowing you as I walk to you or you walk to me, in depth, in death, in soliloquy.

The crumbling clock is my hoarder as it keeps everthing I don't need like memories, future events, and times and dates for places I don't want to be.

Is it too much to want to be a fly on the wall that is smashed?

I've never been so lost.

"Don't be so dramatic. Don't be so dramatic. Don't be so dramatic."

Okay, thanks. Now I can think of that, and what else is wrong with me while I feel lost. So lost, and unlike ever before if I ever was lost before.

What do I even say on my note?

Ooops?
Whoops?
My bad?
It's never enough, isn't it?

If I could wrap your sorrow around my lungs to where I could only breathe your sadness as I give you my hopes, joys, and everlasting essence to fuse with you as you feel complete, I would, I have, and I lay empty.

Is this enough to say?
Do you get my point?
  May 2014 Michael Duong
Joshua Haines
Up until my insomnia meets me
I lied when I said I forgot
I was scared what you'd think
If I said that  I love you a lot

People have only cared for minutes
Leaving me to care for days
When I look at you all I can think
Is please don't go away

I can see me in your eyes
I dream of dreaming with you
I can trace your scars with mine
My thoughts are bleeding through:

My Talia, I know what it's like to not be seen;
what it's like to be alone in a crowded room.
For you, my star, I want you to know:
that no one shines as bright as you.

I can taste you moving on my skin.
My gasp is air you sustain.
hand in hand, under an umbrella
with you, I am safe.
  May 2014 Michael Duong
Meggghanq1
So many misinterpreted metaphors
make me cringe
''are you trying to ruin poetry for everyone''
but I hide my damp eyes behind my fringe
because I mustn't argue and my teachers are never wrong
They sing without a meaning or lyric in their song
we are taught to write what they want to hear
not the truth we feel inside our hopes and fears

But i must turn the other cheek
to get my degree I need..when home I ponder, I weep
because it was the school that killed poetry
for many of my peers..
But all is not lost..wipe away those tears
Grab the pen that feels ethical
the paper that doesn't deceive, doesn't lie
and write a poem that you can feel
you'll get out of school alive
(You know who you are who started this haha!)..Don't get me wrong I love teachers in general..I plan on becoming an awesome one someday too :)
  May 2014 Michael Duong
AE Wilson
For over seventeen years
of moving houses,
(streets, cities, and states)
I had no real understanding
of the word ‘home’.

I knew the definition
but only out of context.
Its connotation was as foreign
to me as that of being in love.

Then I met you,
and I felt your arms
wrapped around me
and your skin warming mine.

Instead of painted walls
and wooden floors,
my first home had shrouded eyes
and worn hands.
In place of hanging portraits,
he had fading memories.

I understand now.
  May 2014 Michael Duong
Lana Grace
I laugh because it's funny,
how you can walk in a patch full of weeds,
and never notice the faithful rose.

but be careful,
her thorns are her scars.
they're guarding her heart.
but oh how easily they can be picked off.
thorn by thorn, piece by piece.
you'll make your way into her heart.

because you're like all the rest.
you'll take off each thorn, grab the vulnerable rose and tell her she's beautiful.

and then you'll destroy the rose.

why?

because beauty is never seen until the scars are removed and the walls are broken down.
but some roses never know who is the one to remove the thorns.
thoughts are plaguing me, so I must write.
  May 2014 Michael Duong
Anand
She was so generous
that she left me with innumerable sorrows.

I was so selfish
that I couldn't give her anything but Love.



El egoísmo    

Ella era tan generosa
Que me dejó con incontables penas.  

Yo era tan egoísta  
Que no le pude dar nada excepto amor.
I just came up with the translation in español
  May 2014 Michael Duong
PrttyBrd
Please.......
Stop talking
For I cannot be who you need me to be
I cannot be who you love
For I am neither wind, nor rain, nor summer sun
I cannot light your nights like a full moon and it's glittering counterparts

Please.......
Stop talking
For I cannot be what you see in me
I cannot be who you love
For I am neither Princess, nor Queen, nor damsel  in distress
I cannot save you and I do not want to be saved

Please.......
Stop talking
For I cannot be the she in your dreams
I cannot be who you love
I encompass no fancy tales of enchantment
I cannot promise an ending full of happiness; I can only promise an ending

Please.......
Stop talking
For I cannot be your fantasy
I cannot be who you love
For I am just a girl inside a woman, I am less a lady than you deserve
And despite my honest words, my heart pleads

Please.......
Don't ever cease
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