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 Feb 2015 Monika
vail joven
water me
 Feb 2015 Monika
vail joven
i am so small,
devoured by
my depression

if i were a flower,
i'd be shrivelled,
on the brink
of being nothing
but soil and dirt

and one day,
i met a boy
who promised
to water me

i promised him
that if he did,
i would grow
and he watered me
day after day,
showered me
abundantly

everyday,
i'd tell him
that i am better,
i have grown 
taller

but he'd grab
my wrist,
measure me
with the ruler
i've created
on my arm

and see that
i've remained
small and 
have gotten
even smaller

he cried and
showered me
with the love in
his salt tears

he cried to me
telling me that
he feared the day
that i would shrink
into nothing,
into death

he watered me
more than before
and his water
was too much

i was flooded,
drowning in
the water
that was supposed
to give me life
(i wrote this while listening to FKA Twigs' Water Me but the poem's message is no way connected to her song)
 Feb 2015 Monika
Kennedy Taylor
Trapped.
Once Again.
Unable to talk.
Silent.

Panicked.
Once again.
Frozen in thought.
Mute.

Afraid.
Once again.
Gasping for air.
Incoherent.

Withdrawn.
Once again.
Crying for release.
Wordless.
 Feb 2015 Monika
Mandy Rochel
From an innocent age
I have always held an inborn fondness for winter
The way the cold air brought people together inside
And the fact that no snowflake was ever the same.
But as I have increased in age
I have found less redundant things that appeal to me about the Jack Frost season
For I now relate the the way everything freezes over
And you cannot feel the tips of your fingers
And new comfort has been located in the elongated periods of darkness
And I have found a deeper meaning
In the way snow falls, but doesn't always make it to the ground
The key to words,
when written down,
is to view them
like a Lost and Found.
For, when faced with creativity,
one can be lost in eternity,
and the endless options
that thoughts present-
all the struggles
in the time that's spent.
One could hear a phrase-
uttered on a whim-
but for a creative mind,
it makes a cup flowing to the brim.
Ideas and conjurations
spring forward with ease,
like delicate whisperings
on a warm summer's breeze.
Bursting with inspiration,
so suddenly found,
makes each step a blessing
as it touches the ground.
Then how is it,
that once imparted,
it is so easy
to find those dear words departed?
A moments distraction,
and then they are helplessly gone;
as you frown and despair
over a writing gone wrong.
You scavenge the void
and the dark recesses
of a previous list
of brilliant successes,
only to find that,
though measurable indeed,
the words on that list
are not what you need.
So treasure wisely
your words today-
for a borrowed word
is tomorrow's play.
 Feb 2015 Monika
LA Brown
Chapter 1
 Feb 2015 Monika
LA Brown
"You read,

like a book.",

he said.

"But wherever

shall I start?"

"In the middle",

I said.

"All good books

should be read in

the middle first."

"Where is the middle?",

he asked.

"Now.",

"Our story starts now."
 Feb 2015 Monika
Similoluwa
Tell me, is it like they say in stories?
Can they find true love, so young, so pure,
Does he take her  breath away with just a phrase, just a word,
Or ignite a passionate fire with just one touch?
Do they really kiss like the world's about to expire,
Or stare deep into each other's  eyes, feeling nothing but desire?
Do they appreciate their imperfections, believing they are perfect?
So tell me, is it like they stay in stories,
Or am I truly a hopeless romantic?
 Feb 2015 Monika
Ernest Hemingway
Never trust a white man,
Never **** a Jew,
Never sign a contract,
Never rent a pew.
Don't enlist in armies;
Nor marry many wives;
Never write for magazines;
Never scratch your hives.
Always put paper on the seat,
Don't believe in wars,
Keep yourself both clean and neat,
Never marry ******.
Never pay a blackmailer,
Never go to law,
Never trust a publisher,
Or you'll sleep on straw.
All your friends will leave you
All your friends will die
So lead a clean and wholesome life
And join them in the sky.
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