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She had the kind of face
that could swallow
your hope
like a fly,
sinking in an olympic sized swimming
pool

You'd never have her,
she'd never want you

Her eyes
two blue lakes
you could submerge in,
drown in,
wishing to never sea them stream

Black painted arcs
curved,
framing,
They could make
Mona Lisa frown
green with envy

Beauty etched
so deep, so true
time itself
could never
erase
Hello,
my name is Afraid
I’m kind of scared to tell you my age
my heights is so strange, so is my weight
I couldn't bear to show you my face
The trees were trembling on my birthday
And I cried so hard - I was afraid
My mother smiled, I looked to her face
She was the one who gave me my name
And years have passed by up to today
My ethnicity gets in my way
I’m afraid knowing that I’m not straight
My religion is fear and dismay
Not a believer, I don’t have faith
Can’t believe lies that these people say
My eyes are black, my gender is rage
But really, inside, I am afraid
I want to take a stand
extend my human hand
and to be tall
but most of all
I want to understand
 Jan 2015 Nebek Wormer
Kataleya
Love her like
She's the raging sea,
Unrestrained and dark and deep.
And you crave her touch
Through aching pores
As you slowly drown in sleep.

Love her like
She's the tender storm,
A lovely shade of grey.
Like with every whiff
Of breath she takes,
She's taking yours away.

Love her like
She's the silent clouds
With calmness floating by.
Like you'd want to make
Sweet love to her
Under the moon's apocalyptic eye.

Love her like
She's the blazing fire,
And you lust the candied pain.
Like she's the disease
That swallowed you whole
And you'd like to die again.

When her gentle touch
Makes your chest explode,
And your addiction is your girl.
Promise you'll love her
Through hell and back,
Or don't you dare love her at all.
The wings of a hurricane
the cry of a beast
concerns of a teenager
present at a feast
salt in fresh wounds
twigs in my cape
soaring through states
this is my escape
you might infest
your precious being
with all the sickness
you’ve been seeing
You might forget
the origin of your shape
you shake off  reality
that is your escape
But the threads in my waistcoat
the apples in my crate
can not be forgotten
in this mental state
I spill the ideas
that society has taped
inside my thoughts
this is my escape
 Jan 2015 Nebek Wormer
SG Holter
Mouthfuls of lead
Cannot silence
Free speech.

People.
Poets.
Arise.

The pen is mightier
Than the
AK-47.
There comes a time, it is inevitable, when one does realize
On a warm, sun-kissed day, when one closes their eyes;
No matter how great their achievement, no matter how big their feat,
They will still have to hang their heads in defeat
When Death comes to welcome them, much to their misery.
It is written throughout history
That many monuments have been erected to personify through the ages a kings’ fame,
But after years, decades, centuries have passed, no one even remembers their name.
In today’s fast, brutal, unforgiving world,
One might think himself a pearl
Without whom, the earth will find itself in a stitch.
But they are one among a million, a drop of sewage in a ditch.
One might believe in a dream that is waiting in the distance afar
But they are merely wishing on a remote, lifeless star,
As dead inside as the wisher of the dream.
The human race, it does seem,
Refuses to believe this truth anyway.
We are but a small rock, floating away,
No other being even knows of our existence.
Yet it is our stubbornness, our resilience
That struggles to find a way of remembrance.
We strive to find a fluorescence
That lights the way for no one,
Liking to think that we have won.
We are alone out there, even if we aren’t, no matter.
Our endless degrees of banter
Harm no one but us.
As much as we think otherwise, we are animals, slaves to our lust.
To those who say that their going is rough,
I laugh in their face and say this is all you get, and it has to be enough.

                                                                                                                                  -Aditi Kumar.
We write, not because we think our ideals will change the world,
But because we know so.
We write not pages after pages so that people will follow us,
We write but a few words for those who are cultured enough to read them.
We write, because we wish to be read.
 Jan 2015 Nebek Wormer
Lucero
The lustful gleaming of the ocean sky,
Keeps me walking in a nice delight.
I am high on the river top,
Like a kite trying to dress up the light.

My fears, dreads, and tears,
Are washed away so tremendously,
That my hearts begins to beat with frequency.

I am no longer the naïve, too scared to live child,
That enveloped me into a cradle of sheets.
My freedom came about,
And my life has just rose to a shout.

The people that I find,
No longer frighten me,
Because I am changed, positively.

No longer do I hide inside my windows, you see.
I ride on to the risks that were forbidden to me.
I conquered my rules I made,
And find that connection is key to fate.

Black and white, was so last year;
I am now a full blown rainbow who dares,
To be strong, intelligent, and keen.

For my confidence is finally in place,
Where it should have been years ago.
I know I can, and I know I will,
Be the shining star, I didn’t know to be.
I just finished this poem like a minute ago. This is my current mood. There should be way more people feeling like this than there actually are.
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